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1 








OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“East or west, hame is best.” 


BY 

SARAH CHESTER EOGIE, 

» ; 

AUTHOR OF “HANDSOME HARRY,” “HER LITTLE WORLD,” “ 

THREE BOYS,” ETC. 




AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 


OUR 



> Q'^ 


COPYRIGHT, 1882, 

BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 


/z- 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER I. 

Linda was sitting on the edge of a bank that ran 
steeply from the sidewalk to the street. Her feet were 
dangling towards a ditch of very muddy water, but her 
head was held so high that her brother Tommy won- 
dered what kept her neck from breaking. Her feet 
were getting sadly plashed by Tommy, but her eyes 
were looking so far away through the air towards the 
tree-tops that she did not know it. 

“ Linda ! Linda !” called her mother. 

“ She ’s in the clouds again,” said Tommy. 

“ And where are you. Tommy?” 

“In the ditch, playing frog,” said Tommy. “She 
ought to have taken better care of me.” 

“ Linda,” said her mother, “ are you dreaming 
again, after all I have said to you ? Take Tommy out 
of the ditch ; and where is the baby ?” 

By this time Linda’s dreams were over, and she was 
pulling Tommy out by both arms and looking up and 
down the street for a runaway baby. 


4 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ I ’m so tired of them all,” she thought. “ I wish 
I could have a little peace for a while.” 

“There, Tommy!” she said, seating him on the 
green, “ do n’t you stir till I find baby.” 

He was discovered by-and-by behind a neighbor’s 
gatepost, munching on a piece of an apple he had 
found in the street. 

“ Give it to Linda, dear,” said the big sister. 

“ No, no, no ! mine appy 1” shrieked the baby. 

After which force became necessary, and Linda had 
a screaming, kicking, struggling mass of flesh and mus- 
cle to carry home. 

It was a warm day, and the baby, heavy at any 
time, nearly overcame her now. She felt as if she 
should sink down on the ground, never to rise again, 
before she could reach the door. But at last the baby 
was shut in the hall, and then Linda did sink down on 
the carpet, and hugging her knees rocked back and 
forth in despair. 

“ Oh, I have had such a dreadful day,” she said. 

“ It is very warm,” said her mamma, as she com- 
forted the baby. 

“ I don’t mind that very much,” said Linda. “ It 
is the children ; they are wearing me out, mamma. I 
am so tired of Tommy’s getting in the ditch, and the 
baby’s running away, and Polly’s meddling, and break- 
ing and tearing all the pretty things I like best, that I 
do n’t know what to do.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


5 


“ Poor Linda !” said her mamma. 

“ Do n’t you wish there were baby-schools, mam- 
ma, where you could send children and keep them 
till they were old enough to be nice — nine or ten, you 
know?” said Linda, in her dreamy tone. Her eyes 
were looking through the window, as if they were try- 
ing to see the farthest clouds. “ Or do n’t you wish 
babies never cried and ran away, and that little boys 
like Tommy liked to keep clean and sit still and make 
pictures on the slate, and that children like Polly were 
fond of sewing for their dolls and keeping their play- 
rooms in order ? There are so many nice things chil- 
dren could do without getting into mischief. You say 
that I was never mischievous like the others.” 

“ No, you were such a quiet little thing,” said her 
mother. “ You were merry, too ; but you would sit in 
a corner and play mother with your little rubber-doll 
all the morning; and you were so dainty about your 
eating. You never put your head in a bowl of milk 
and tried to drink like a dog. And such a way as 
Tommy has of putting both hands in the oatmeal, and 
then trying to get the two handfuls in his mouth at 
once,” she said, laughing. “ I can’t imagine you ever 
doing such a thing, Linda. You were a dear, quiet, 
gentle little thing, and used to sit looking up in the air 
with your big eyes full of dreams when you were six 
months old, just the way you do now. Papa often 
used to say that you would make something.” 


6 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


A proud, pleased little smile flitted over Linda’s 
face, and she opened her eyes wider and stared into 
vacancy a little harder than was quite natural. 

“ I have often thought,” she said, “ that I would 
write a little poem on ‘ The Paradise of Children ; or, 
the Good Children’s Garden,’ or some such subject.” 

“ I found a little scrap that you left in the arbor the 
other day,” said her mamma, “and papa said the 
rhymes were very pretty.” 

Linda smiled again, and felt encouraged to say 
more about “ The Good Children’s Garden.” 

“ I think I will have them all wear velvet shoes,” 
she said, as if there were a vision of velvet shoes be- 
fore her eyes up there in the air. Her head was thrown 
so far back that Tommy would certainly have thought 
it was going to tumble off behind if he had been there. 
“ Some of them,” she continued, still gazing towards 
cloudland, “ some of them can have black velvet em- 
broidered with gold, and some of them blue velvet em- 
broidered with silver, and some of them might go bare- 
footed to show their dear little pink toes; but they 
shall all step softly, mamma, just as softly in their bare 
feet as if they had on velvet shoes. They are all going 
to have very low voices, too, and almost whisper when 
they speak, and just laugh the tiniest little bits of 
laughs. I wont have any mud-puddles in the garden, 
nothing but lovely little clean silver ponds, so they 
never can get muddy if they want to. And they would 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


7 


no more think of meddling with anything! Why, I 
would n’t have a child in the garden that w'ould pick a 
flower without permission — the way Tommy did my 
tulips. I tell you, mamma, there wont be a mischiev- 
ous or noisy or dirty child there.” 

“ O dear !” said mamma, glancing at the dear baby 
in her lap, who was just finishing the lump of sugar she 
had given him for comfort when Linda brought him in. 
He was very dirty, first from the apple Linda had taken 
away, and afterwards from the sugar. He was very 
happy with his mouth all sweet and sticky, and ex- 
pressed it by a great number of merry shouts, which 
Linda had to scream down as she talked to mamma. 
He was so full of mischief that mamma could hardly 
keep a hairpin in her hair ; the bow was off her neck, 
crumpled up in his sticky fingers ; her collar was fly- 
ing, candy marks were all over the shoulder of her 
dress, her cheek was also smarting from a scratch 
which the little fingers had given her playfully ; but he 
was such a darling, oh, such a cunning little fat, mis- 
chievous, dirty darling, as could not be found any- 
where else in America; and mamma loved and ad- 
mired him so much that she said, “ Oh, dear Linda !” 
two or three times. 

“ Do n’t you think that would be nice,” said Linda, 
“ to have them always clean and quiet and never get- 
ting into mischief?” 

“ O dear, no !” said mamma, going off into a great 


8 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


romp with the baby, that made him ten times noisier 
than before. “ But I ’ll tell you how it is, Linda.” 

It was some time, however, before she could tell 
her anything; for the baby suddenly discovered that 
he was sleepy, and stopped in the midst of his frolick- 
ing to sit up as stiff and still as a judge. Then he 
scowled at his mamma and put on a severe, solemn 
look as if he was astonished at her mirth; then he 
turned his back to Linda, ducked his head under his 
mamma’s arm, and, like an ostrich that hides its head 
and thinks no one can see it because it can see no 
one, so the baby, because he had made a little night 
for himself under mamma’s arm, fancied that it was 
night everywhere, and that he was as much hidden 
from the world as the world was hidden from him. 
That was one of his cunningest tricks, and Linda 
smiled and said, “ The darling !” while mamma, kiss- 
ing the back of the soft little head just once and very 
gently, began to sing. 

Of course Linda kept perfectly still, for no one was 
allowed to speak a word after the head went under the 
arm, except baby himself, who occasionally demanded 
the songs he wished to hear. This gave Linda a beau- 
tiful opportunity to go on with her dreaming and make 
further plans for the Children’s Garden. One thing 
she determined — that there should be only beautiful lul- 
labies sung in her garden, sweet, gentle words and soft, 
smooth melodies, which of course would make it neces- 


our OF THE FOLD. 


9 


sary that the little ones should all have good taste in 
the selection of music. It annoyed her to have the 
baby interrupt her pleasant dreaming with 

“ Tweedle dee, mamma !” 

And how many times, she wondered, did her mam- 
ma repeat, 

“ ‘ Tweedle dee, tweedle dee, said the fiddlers !’ ” 

She thought the w^ords very uninteresting, and old 
King Cole and his fiddlers were such ordinary people ! 

Then the baby roared, 

“ Hog !” 

And over and over and over her mother sang, 

“‘To market, to market, to buy a fat pig ; 

Home again, home again, jiggelty jig. 

To market, to market, to buy a fat hog; 

Home again, home again, jiggelty jog.’ ” 

How could the baby like to hear it so many times, 
and purr like a happy little kitten to show how well it 
pleased him ! 

“ Really,” thought Linda, “ babies’ tastes ought to 
be improved. Perhaps I can write a sweet little lullaby 
some day that they will all like.” 

By this time he had purred himself to sleep, and the 
“tweedle dee” and “jiggelty jog” ceased. Mamma 
laid him down and came back to explain to Linda how 
it was. 


2 


lO 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER II. 

“You know I often tell you, Linda,” said mamma 
very gently, “ that I am afraid you dream too much.” 

Linda did not look as well pleased as when mamma 
had praised the little poem which was the result of her 
dreaming. “ Little girls cannot live in the clouds and 
on the earth at the same time,” said mamma. 

It was too much like a sermon to please Linda alto- 
gether, and she immediately withdrew her gaze from 
that distant spot in the air and fastened it on the carpet. 
She was in cloudland no longer, but a little girl at her 
mamma’s feet listening eagerly for her next words. 

For those words were always precious to Linda, 
even when they were rebukes. Mamma’s rebukes 
were so kind that they never hurt very much, and so 
just that one could not dispute them. And how delight- 
ful it was to have her all to one’s self once in a while. 

It was seldom that these two mothers of the family 
had a quiet time to themselves. Either Linda had 
a baby to take care of when mamma was quietly sew- 
ing and could talk to her as the needle flew ; or mamma 
had a baby demanding all her attention when Linda 
was at leisure and longed for an opportunity to pour 
out all the thoughts and perplexities which were in 
her mind. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


II 


They could never be quite sure of an interview 
until the children were asleep for the night. Then 
papa generally wanted an interview himself. But some- 
times he went to his office. Sometimes after Linda 
had turned out the gas and got intg bed, and was 
looking toward the moon or stars, or any shining thing 
that happened to be in the sky, through the window 
at the foot of her bed — sometimes when she lay in that 
dreamy, comfortable state which comes just before the 
real dreams, she heard the front door slam. 

No one else ever made such a noise as her papa, 
not even Tommy with his new shoes and tin trumpet; 
and mamma often told him that he was the greatest 
baby in the family. Such laughing and whistling, such 
racing and romping and knocking about of the furni- 
ture as followed papa’s entrance; and he thought no 
more of slamming a door than of humming a tune. 

“ It is fortunate that you did not marry a woman 
with nerves,” mamma used to say. 

But if his wife had no nerves his eldest daughter 
had, and though there were times when she enjoyed 
the romp quite as well as the baby, there were also 
times when she longed for peace in which to meditate, 
and there were times when she wished that she and 
mamma could run away and hide in a cave by the 
sea, where no sound would ever reach them but the 
soft lapping of the waves. It was a little poem about 
the lapping waves which her papa had found in the 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


arbor and praised ; and Linda had been delighted with 
the praise, as he had a habit of making great fun of 
her poems. 

So if the front door slammed while Linda lay look- 
ing at the shining things in the sky she knew her papa 
had gone to the office, and that dear mamma would 
come up for a talk. Mamma always came to tuck her 
in and say Good-night, but she only stayed a moment 
if papa was below. 

When Linda heard mamma’s slippers stepping 
softly stair over stair she felt very anxious lest a baby 
who had slept through the slamming of the door should 
be awakened by a footstep ; and always drew a long 
sigh of relief when mamma reached her bed safely. 
She forgot the shining things outside her window, 
she forgot how comfortable and sleepy, how nearly at 
the gates of dreamland she had been. She was back 
in the land where her mamma dwelt, with her hand 
clasping the dearest hand in the world, wdth all the 
thoughts and fancies she had had no opportunity to 
utter crowding their way from her brain to her tongue ; 
with so much to say that she never got through by the 
time her mamma must go. 

“I don’t believe you ever would get through, 
darling, if I should stay all night,” her mamma some- 
times said. 

Often Linda talked herself so sleepy that it was 
her own fault she could not finish ; often the door-bell 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


13 

rang and mamma had to go to the parlor ; but oftener 
than either a child screamed for its mother, and she 
ran to it through the dark as fast as her swift slippers 
would take her. 

If the bedtime talks were so rare and precious, how 
much more rare and precious were those talks that 
sometimes occurred during the busy day. If her 
mamma had scolded her very severely Linda would 
not have cared much as she lay at her feet rejoicing 
that she had her all to herself. It seemed too good to 
be true that they were not to be interrupted by Tommy, 
Polly, or the baby. Baby was sound asleep, Polly out 
spending the afternoon, Tommy — but where was Tom- 
my? 

Linda was longing to hear what mamma should 
say next when that question began to whisper through 
her mind, “Where is Tommy? where is Tommy? 
where is Tommy?” she kept hearing as mamma’s 
gentle rebukes also fell upon her ears. 

“ I am quite willing that you should dream some- 
times,” said mamma. “ Find all the pretty fancies that 
you can up in the clouds, dear, and then bring them 
down and put them into rhyme if you like. It can do 
no one any harm if you are neglecting no one at the 
time. All that I have to say is, dream when you 
dream and work when you work, Linda. If you find 
it impossible to write a poem when you are taking 
good care of the children, you will find it just as im- 


14 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


possible to take good care of them when you are 
dreaming out a poem. Mischievous little boys and 
girls who live on the earth cannot be properly watched 
by a little girl who lives in the clouds. You know 
what geherally happens, when you are in the clouds 
and Tommy down below you — why, Linda, where is 
Tommy?” 

Linda sighed deeply. She knew that their quiet 
talk had come to a sudden end, just as it always did. 

“ I thought we would have a little peace for once,” 
she said ; “ but Tommy ’s always lost when there ’s 
nothing else to spoil our talks.” 

“We have had a longer talk than usual at any 
rate,” said mamma. “ Let us be thankful for that. I 
am sure I feel greatly indebted to master baby for not 
interrupting us. And now we will see how my little 
dreamer has profited by our talk and whether she will 
go down in the ditch or up in the clouds to hunt for 
Tommy.” 

“ I ’ll go to the ditch,” said Linda, jumping up and 
kissing mamma. “ I am sure to find him there.” 

It was supposed that Tommy would remain in any 
ditch until he was pulled out, so great was his fondness 
for muddy water; and Linda had no idea that she 
should not find him where she had left him. 

She ran to the sidewalk and looked down the bank, 
and from one corner to the other, but saw no small 
boots wading and splashing anywhere. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


15 


“ O dear, he ’s run away,” she said, “ and I shall 
have to hunt all over, and it ’s so hot this afternoon.” 

There was a wagon crawling slowly down the street, 
and she looked eagerly to see if there were any small 
boots dangling behind ; then she wondered if they 
could have gone off on any other wagon, and whether 
they might not be out in the country by this time, and 
what she would do about it in that case. She could 
never follow Tommy over miles of country road 
through heat and dust, and yet she did not want to 
lose him. Though he was such a bother, she was sure 
that she would rather tramp miles after him than lose 
him altogether. But she would first search the neigh- 
borhood, as it was quite probable that he had gone to 
some one’s back-door begging cookies, and was cov- 
ering some one’s kitchen-floor with crumbs by this 
time. 

“ Did he have his sling, Linda ?” her mamma 
called, as she was turning towards Dr. Anderson’s. 

Yes ; Linda remembered that she had seen a sling 
by the side of the ditch. She looked for it all along 
the ditch, but it was gone, and she knew that Tommy 
and the sling must have gone'together. 

“ Oh,” said mamma, “ he has been shooting Mr. 
Mitchell’s chickens again.” 

“ O mamma, Mr. Mitchell told him he would put 
him in jail if he ever broke another chicken’s wing,” 
said Linda. “ Do you suppose he has ?” 


i6 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ You had better go and see,” said mamma, laugh- 
ing. 

Linda forgot the heat ; she was too alarmed to be 
encouraged by mamma’s laugh; she ran down the 
street and across it, through clouds of dust, though 
there was a crosswalk close by that would have taken 
her to Mr. Mitchell’s just as quickly. With her hair 
flying, her cheeks burning, her eyes wild and bright, 
and her shoes white with dust, she appeared before 
Mr. Mitchell, who was in his back-yard sawing wood 
as briskly as if it were not an afternoon in August. 

He was a little, shrivelled old man, and when Linda 
drew herself up to her full height she felt quite as tall 
as the little man bending over the saw. 

“ Where is my brother ?” she asked sternly. 

She caught her breath to be ready for more con- 
versation. 

Mr. Mitchell looked up from under his old straw 
hat, which the suns of many summers had painted all 
sorts of colors, and Linda judged from his smile that it 
gave him pleasure to see her so agitated and dusty and 
out of breath. 

She closed her mouth and determined to become 
composed, and felt herself very tall indeed as she drew 
nearer the bent figure and demanded in sterner tones, 

“ Where is my brother ?” 

He might as well have been deaf and dumb, for all 
the attention he paid to her. How provoking to have 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


^7 


him rise and bend, saw and smile, so slowly and coolly, 
while she was half-wild with the heat of the sun and 
the fears in her heart. She felt as if she would like to 
shake an answer out of him ; but she knew Mr. Mitch- 
ell of old, and was perfectly well aware that an answer 
could not be shaken from him, or forced from him by 
any means ; so, although she was still angry and afraid 
for Tommy’s safety, she pinched her fingers together 
and said as calmly as possible, 

“Wont you please answer me, Mr. Mitchell? 
Where ’s Tommy ?” 

For a minute the saw went back and forth, the little 
figure bent and rose, and a provoking smile appeared 
from under the variegated hat; then he replied in his 
slow, wheezing tones, 

“ Where ’s my white chicken ?” 

“ Is — is — anything the matter with it ?’^ gasped 
Linda. 

She hardly dared ask if it was killed, a horrible fear 
passing through her mind that perhaps in that case 
Tommy might be accused of murder. 

“You just come along,” said Mr. Mitchell, leaving 
his saw in the middle of the stick and beckoning Linda 
to follow him as he walked towards the woodpile. 

He walked the whole length of the woodpile and 
around the other end towards the corner nearest the 
house, while Linda followed, “feeling,” she told her 
mother afterwards, “ as if she was going to a funeral.” 

3 


i5 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


And there at the end of the woodpile, up in the 
corner, lay a little white chicken, so still that Linda 
knew there could be no life under its wings. It was 
such a pretty little plump fellow, and so white and 
downy, that she could not blame Mr. Mitchell for be- 
ing sorry that it was dead. 

“ Oh,” she said, “ what a pity !” 

“ There ’s a good meal spoiled for me,” said he. 
“ I ’d have had a dinner out of him in less ’n a month’s 
time.” 

Linda’s heart was not as tender towards Mr. Mitch- 
ell’s loss when she found that he was regretting the 
chicken as a dinner ; and she felt sorry for the poor 
little dead thing that had not a more loving mourner. 
How she would have loved it as a pet if it had been 
hers ! She would have cuddled it up in her neck, and 
smoothed its pretty feathers, and kept them white with 
soap and water, and she would have given it a funeral, 
and cried for it, and written a poem, perhaps, on “ The 
Dead Chicken.” The idea of thinking about dinners 
in connection with anything that was almost as sweet 
as a baby ! She felt herself getting quite angry at Mr. 
Mitchell again. But it never occurred to her to be an- 
gry at Tommy for causing all the trouble. 

Well, there was the chicken, but where was Tommy 
all this time ? She hardly dared ask the question again, 
so she tried another. 

” Did Tommy — did Tommy?” she began. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


19 


“ Yes, he did,” said Mr. Mitchell savagely, laying 
his finger on the chicken’s head, where Linda saw 
some spots of blood. “ But it ’s the last’ time he ’ll 
sling a stone at any of my chickens’ heads, mind ye ! 
That little slinger of his has gone where he wont see 
it again in a hurry.” 

“ Did you break it ?” said Linda. 

“ That ’s what I ’ve done,” said he. “ In more ’n 
forty bits, as you can see for yourself by going around 
the house to look at the pieces.” 

“ Oh, I ’m so glad,” said Linda. “ Mamma will be 
delighted. He is always firing things at us.” 

Mr. Mitchell looked rather sorry that he had given 
pleasure to any of Tommy’s family, and was glad that 
Linda asked him just then where her brother was, for 
it gave him a chance to speak fiercely, 

“ Where you wont see him in a hurry,” said he. 

He was on his way back to the woodpile, with 
Linda following closely. 

“ Tell me what you have done with him !” she cried. 
“ Have you put him in jail ? Have you dared to put 
him in jail ? I shall go directly and tell my father.” 

Mr. Mitchell evidently did not wish her to do that, 
for he said at once, 

“ I ’ve got him safe in a little jail of my own not far 
from here.’‘ 

As he nodded towards the barn Linda concluded 
that Tommy was there ; and though it was not pleas- 


20 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


ant to learn that he was locked up, it was certainly a 
relief to know just where he was at last. 

“ I do n’t think you have any right to lock my little 
brother in your barn,” she said. “ I shall go and tell 
my mother.” 

“And she’ll tell you it serves him right,” said Mr. 
Mitchell, going back and forth with the saw again. 
“She said, ‘You teach him a lesson if he does it 
again, Mr. Mitchell. That’s what he needs.’ Your 
mother and I understand this case.” 

“ My mother does n’t want her little boy to be treat- 
ed as if he was wicked enough to go to jail. I know 
she does n’t,” said Linda haughtily. “ And I shall go 
and tell her all about it.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


21 


CHAPTER III. 

When she left Mr. Mitchell and the woodpile, 
Linda was quite angry at the old man, very, very sorry 
for her poor little brother, anxious to get him out of 
prison as soon as possible, and sure that her mamma 
would help her about it. But as she drew nearer and 
nearer home she felt less and less sure of her mamma’s 
sympathy; she remembered how she had laughed 
when she spoke of Tommy’s shooting chickens, and 
she wondered if it could be true that she had given Mr. 
Mitchell permission to punish him. If everybody had 
forsaken Tommy, surely Linda must befriend him. 
If he had only her left, a thousand times more would 
she do and dare for him than if the whole world were 
on his side. She felt quite equal to breaking down the 
barn-door, if that should be necessary in Tommy’s be- 
half All sorts of plans for his benefit were rushing 
through her mind, when she happened to feel the re- 
freshing shadow of a tree over her burning face. 

It was so cool and delicious after her race in the 
sun that she paused a moment. Here was a good 
place to calm her excited thoughts and consider wisely 
what step she should take towards releasing her poor 
little Tommy. 


22 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


The grass was green and soft ; it was meant for a 
cushion for tired wayfarers, one could see that at a 
glance; so the tired little girl dropped down to rest, 
feeling as grateful as if some one had just offered her 
an upholstered armchair. And she accepted the breeze 
which came gently through the shade of the leaves as 
she would have taken a fan, and could not have been 
more comfortable if she had just been received into 
some one’s parlor with every attention. 

And now what should be done for Tommy, poor 
little Tommy who had killed the poor little chicken? 
Was it Tommy she had to consider, or the chicken ? 
O Tommy, of course. And yet somehow the chicken’s 
tragic fate filled her with dreamy, mournful thoughts. 
It was the picture of a plump little fowl, not the- picture 
of a plump little boy, which she saw as she gazed up 
into the shadow of the tree. 

How sad for a chicken to die and have no one to 
mourn it ! Poor little chicken ! mourned only for the 
dinner which it might have made, never because it was 
so white and soft and downy. Linda felt rhymes jing- 
ling in her head, and put her hand in her pocket ; but 
she found neither paper nor pencil, and so resolved to 
commit to memory whatever she might compose : 

“ Poor little chicken white, 

I am sorry for your plight. 

It seems so very sad to die, 

And not have anybody cry, 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


23 


Excepting one old man, 

Who would like to cook you in a pan. 

If you had been my chicky dear, 

I would have cried many a tear, 

And put you in a little grave 
Where the wild willows wave. 

Your little wings will never fly. 

And so I must bid you good-by. 

If you had been my little pet, 

I would have loved you dearly yet.” 

I am very sorry that Tommy ” 

****** 

Tommy? Where was Tommy? O Tommy was 
her little brother; and she had been in the clouds, 
and he was locked in the barn, and she was going to 
let him out, and she had been wasting time in dream- 
ing. Was it possible that she had been so heartless as 
to lie down there and dream while Tommy was a pris- 
oner ? Linda was never more ashamed of her dream- 
ing. She did not stop to consider how she should let 
him out now ; she only ran away as fast as she could 
fly to do it. 

She ran around Mr. Mitchell’s house on her tiptoes, 
and peeped at him from behind a tree. He was still 
going back and forth with the saw, without the slight- 
est regard to the poor little prisoner in the barn. 
Should she stoop to coaxing ? Should she go and beg 
the cross old man to forgive Tommy? No, she felt 
sure that it would do no good. She was inclined to 
think that both Mr. Mitchell and mamma meant to 


24 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


punish Tommy in a way that he would remember, and 
that she would not succeed in getting either of them to 
help her. 

The tree behind which she was hiding was shady, 
and moss grew like velvet all around its roots ; but she 
felt no temptation to sit down and dream. Her face 
might burn and her head throb, but she was thoroughly 
ashamed by this time of having neglected Tommy for 
a moment, and had no thought but to let him out as 
quickly as possible. 

She ran back to the street and all the way around 
the block till she came to a house on the next street 
which was directly behind Mr. Mitchell’s. Its back- 
yard joined Mr. Mitchell’s by a high fence, and just 
back of the fence stood the barn where Tommy was 
imprisoned. 

Linda opened the gate and looked anxiously up at 
the windows, for she feared that the people who lived 
there might come out and ask what right a strange lit- 
tle girl had to go walking through their yard. 

However, she walked on just as if she had a right, 
and saw no one but an astonished servant, who gazed 
at her from the kitchen window, but did not come out 
to inquire what she wanted. When she reached the 
garden she ran, and was soon at the high board fence. 

She peeped through a crack, and could see Mr. 
Mitchell still bobbing and sawing. Now if she could 
only get over the fence without his seeing her, she 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


25 


would investigate the barn, and perhaps discover a 
back-door by which she could let Tommy out. 

The fence was a hard one to get over ; but as Lin- 
da could climb like a squirrel, she did not give the 
difficulties of the fence a second thought. Neither did 
she fear anything behind her. Having reached the end 
of the garden without being disturbed, she considered 
herself safe, and her only anxiety was about the old 
man in the other yard. 

But as she clutched the top of the fence with the 
tips of her fingers, and began to draw one foot above 
the other, she heard a sound which made her feet go 
up with astonishing swiftness ; and before she stopped 
to think, she had thrown herself over the fence, and 
was crouching behind it on Mr. Mitchell’s side. 

She was no sooner over than she wished herself 
back, for she thought she would much rather face the 
little dog which had come barking at her than Mr. 
Mitchell; and she was sure that Mr. Mitchell must 
have looked up when the dog began to bark, and seen 
her flying over the fence. She peeped at him around 
the currant-bush which hid her. He was going back 
and forth, with his head bent over the saw, and appa- 
rently heard nothing but the scraping of the little sharp 
teeth in the wood, and saw nothing but the stick he was 
cutting in two. 

Linda drew her skirts closely around her, and 
arranged herself between the two foes so that she could 
4 


26 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


watch both ; but at last she decided that the dog had 
no other intention than to stand there and bark, and 
that Mr. Mitchell could not have seen her. 

Then she began to long to escape and set Tommy 
free; but she did not quite dare, as Mr. Mitchell 
glanced up occasionally towards the barking, and 
might happen to glance at her just as she came forth. 
Just then her attention was called to Tommy in an un- 
expected manner. 

A corn-cob came flying through the air and landed 
at her feet. She looked toward Mr. Mitchell, but could 
not believe he had thrown it, as he was still sawing, and 
was too far away to have aimed so surely. She could 
see no one else in either garden, but suddenly thought 
of Tommy, and looked towards the barn. 

There was his face at a very high small window — a 
window not any too large to fit his chubby cheeks like 
a picture-frame. He had none of the sadness in his 
expression which one would expect from a guilty pris- 
oner, but looked extremely cheerful, and shook his 
head in silent laughter as he pointed first at the dog, 
then at Linda. Afterwards he pointed down at the 
barn-door, and beckoned Linda to come and let him 
out. 

Linda nodded her willingness to release him, but 
also pointed at the dog, and tried to make Tommy 
understand by signs why she was afraid to leave her 
hiding-place. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


27 


Tommy disappeared, and when he came back an- 
other corn-cob flew through the air ; but it was meant 
for the dog, not Linda. It was not an easy matter, 
however, to hit a small dog who was protected by a 
high fence and several trees; and Linda interpreted 
Tommy’s action as a hint, which she was not slow to 
take. She collected all the stones within reach, and 
began throwing them over the fence, with the intention 
of driving the dog away. 

It was very provoking to see the result of her 
efforts ; the dog became so angry that his barks were 
like shrieks, and came faster than ever, while Mr. 
Mitchell laid down his saw and looked towards Linda’s 
bush as if he were surely coming to inquire about the 
noise; and Tommy — Tommy, for whom Linda had 
done and suffered so much — just laughed at her from 
his little window till Linda was half inclined to turn 
against him. 

At least she could do nothing for him at present ; 
she could think only of her own predicament. How 
could she escape if Mr. Mitchell should come ? What 
should she say to him ? Oh, that horrible little dog, 
he was actually beginning again, louder than before ! 
Was there anything that could tire him or stop him ? 

Yes, there was one thing, and it came down the 
garden path in the hand of our angry-looking maid 
just at the moment of Linda’s greatest despair. For 
one second Linda did not feel quite certain whether 


28 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


the maid was bringing the switch to beat her or the 
dog. But the dog knew better and scampered away 
before the switch could fall on his back. 

The servant looked around as if she wondered what 
was the cause of so much barking and seemed search- 
ing for the bold child who had walked uninvited 
through a stranger’s garden. But although she 
glanced among trees and bushes she did not peep 
through the hole in the fence; and at last she went 
away. 

Then Linda could give her attention to Mr. Mitch- 
ell; and what was her dismay to discover that he 
had advanced a long way from the woodpile towards 
her bush. But he was standing still, and as the dog 
did not return to annoy him he concluded to walk back 
and take up his saw. Then Linda felt as if her trou- 
bles were over, and glanced towards Tommy. 

He knew better than to laugh now. He shook his 
head quite sadly and pointed towards the door and 
beckoned Linda to hurry. Filled with pity for his 
woes now that he had stopped laughing at her, Linda 
jumped up and ran behind the barn. She had only 
to pull out a small piece of wood which was fastened 
to the barn by a string, and which served as a bolt, 
when the door flew open. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ Walk in,” said Tommy politely, for he had slid- 
den down from the top of his haystack to meet her. 

“I’m glad to get out of the sun,” said Linda. 

“ Pretty warm out doors ?” said Tommy. 

“ Roasting,” said Linda. 

“I don’t know much about out doors, you see,” 
said Tommy. “I’m a prisoner. But it ’s nice and 
cool in here.” 

“I believe you’ve had a good time,” said Linda; 
“ you always do have a good time.” 

“ There ’s a lot of fun in a barn,” said Tommy. 

“ All the trouble comes on me,” said Linda. 
“ Whenever you are bad I get the worst of it.” 

“ I ’m not bad,” said Tommy sweetly. 

“ It ’s wicked to kill,” said Linda. 

“ Take a seat on my sofa,” said Tommy. “ You 
must be tired jumping fences and everything.” 

Linda sank down on the hay. 

“Have a fan?” said Tommy, offering his hat. 
“ Do n’t be mad. You ought to have taken better care 
of me any way, Linda Barto.” 

“You ungrateful little thing ! That ’s what you 
always say,” said Linda. “ And I nearly kill myself 


30 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


taking care of you. I Ve been racing through the 
sun this hot day, and nearly scared to death by an old 
man and a dog and a woman with a stick ; and it made 
me feel so badly when I saw that poor little white 
chicken you killed. It’s dreadfully wicked to kill, 
Tommy Barto.” 

“ I only fired a little stone at him,” said Tommy. 

“But you know you can hit anything you aim at,” 
said Linda, “ if you are but seven years old. It ’s a 
very dangerous gift to be able to take good aim, and 
you might kill me some day. You know there was 
once a great big giant killed with a little bit of a stone. 
I ’m glad Mr. Mitchell has broken your sling all to 
pieces.” 

“ I ’ve got ten cents in my bank ; I can get another; 
and I do n’t see what you want to be so cross for. 
We ’d better hurry out before Mr. Mitchell catches us. 
Did n’t I kick though when he caught me ! He came 
creeping around the wood-pile just like a mouse, and 
before I even heard him, he had me. I suppose he 
was watching.” 

“ Well, Tommy, I hope this is an end of your sling 
mischief,” said Linda. “ I am sure we have all suf- 
fered enough.” 

“I had a good enough time till you came,” said 
Tommy. “I played all over the hay and found an 
egg, and cut T. B. up on that beam so Mr. Mitchell 
would have something to remember me by. Every 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


31 


time he looks that way he 11 think of Tommy Barto. 
Lucky I had my knife in my pocket, was n’t it?” 

“ I suppose mamma knew you would n’t suffer 
much when she decided to let Mr. Mitchell do what 
he pleased with you. But I determined to let you 
out,” said Linda, feeling as if she had done a great 
deal for nothing, and longing for some word of appre- 
ciation from Tommy for all she had suffered. 

“You have n’t let me out yet,” said Tommy. “ How 
are you going to get me home without his seeing 
me?” 

“ O dear,” said Linda, “ I never thought of that. 
Can you climb the fence, Tommy ?” 

Tommy shook his head. “ It ’s too high. I ’m not 
as long as you, you know. ‘Besides there is the dog.” 

“And the woman with a stick,” said Linda. 

“Well, what’ll you do?” said Tommy. “You 
better hurry, or Mr. Mitchell will come and let me out 
himself. Time must be almost up.” 

“ If he should find me here he would n’t let either 
of us out, I believe,” said Linda. 

“ He wouldn’t let you out anyway,” said Tommy, 
“ ’cause you had n’t any business to come in his barn 
without being asked.” 

“Listen!” said Linda, suddenly starting up from 
her cushion of hay. 

The sound was very near, and very like the tread 
of feet. 


32 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


“ Come !” said Linda, seizing Tommy’s hand. 

“ Where ?” said Tommy. “ What you going to do ?” 

But Linda did not stop to answer. She pulled 
him along, and before Tommy could say a word they 
were flying over Mr. Mitchell’s lawn. 

It was only a cat whose steps they had heard be- 
hind the barn, for there stood Mr. Mitchell still sawing. 
He looked up in amazement as the children raced by 
him, but he had not time to lay down his saw when 
the four feet were out of the gate and kicking up a 
great dust in the middle of the street. 

“ There !” said Linda, as they stood still at last 
inside their own gate, “ you are safe.” 

“For this time,” said Tommy coolly. “I wonder 
what you ’ll be doing for me next.” 

“ Leaving you to yourself perhaps,” said Linda. 
“ You do n’t know how soon I may get tired of taking 
care of you.” 

“ Oh if you took care of me all the time I would n’t 
get locked up in people’s barns and everything,” said 
Tommy. 

“ I never saw such an ungrateful child,” said Linda. 
“I’m going right away, and you can do whatever you 
please.” 

What Tommy pleased to do after Linda had gone 
into the house was to sit down and consider whether 
he was ungrateful. Linda had told him so several 
times that afternoon, and when he thought of all she 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


33 


had done for him and how few thanks she had received, 
he did not know but there might be some truth in her 
accusation. 

He began to feel a little ashamed the more he 
thought of Linda and himself; and although he had 
laughed a great deal when he saw her flying over the 
fence, with her flushed cheeks and wild hair, yet Tom- 
my did not laugh about it all now; and instead of 
thinking of her funny plight he could not help think- 
ing how much better a sister he had than Teddy 
Symonds. Teddy was always telling him how his 
sister Belle scolded when he got into mischief “You 
deserve to suffer the consequences, Teddy Symonds, 
and you may for all of me,” Belle used to say. But 
Linda never said that to Tommy. No matter how 
much he deserved to suffer she always pitied him and 
helped to make the consequences as easy as possible. 

Tommy’s hand had gone into his pocket and taken 
out his knife when he began to think. He always 
seemed to think better with the knife in his hand. In- 
deed, he felt as if he could do everything better with 
that knife in sight. It was a great friend of Tommy’s, 
and he felt lost when it went out of his sight occa- 
sionally. 

Polly and baby had a way of hiding and losing it 
whenever they could get a chance. If by any accident 
Tommy left it lying around, one of those children was 
sure to see it, and that was the end of it till Linda 
5 


34 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


found it. How many times Linda had left her reading 
or her day-dreaming to run from room to room, up 
stairs and down stairs, to hunt behind and under 
things, to question and coax the children, and never to 
give up until she found Tommy’s treasure. 

“ It is no more than fair,” thought Tommy, as he 
tossed the knife in the air and proceeded with the game 
of mumble-de-peg that he was playing — “ it is no more 
than fair you should make her something to pay for 
her finding you so often. Besides, I owe her some- 
thing for getting me out of jail this afternoon. Can’t 
exactly go and thank her now, and tell her I was n’t 
very grateful, but if I give her a nice present she ’ll 
know what it means. So, old knife, you can just help 
me out and make her something pretty.” ■ 

Tommy walked around to the woodhouse, and 
came back with a pine stick. He chose a shady place 
and stretched his legs on the grass, and began to whis- 
tle and think. 

“ Guess I ’ll make her a parasol,”- he said, “ a par- 
asol for her doll.” 

As he whistled and whittled he kept thinking, and 
it gave Tommy much pleasure to consider what a good 
boy he w'as. 

“ I could run away if I wanted to,” thought he. 
“ Linda ’s gone off and forgotten to look after me, the 
way she ’s always doing, and there is nobody around. 
I could run two miles, and none of the family would 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


35 


see me. But I wont. I ’ll just stay here and work 
hard for my sister.” 

Good little Tommy smiled in self-approval; but 
while thinking so much of himself he thought too little 
of the dangerous weapon he was using, and the. first 
thing he knew out spirted some drops of blood from a 
cut in his thumb. • - 

He wiped them off, but out came more, and as fast 
as he wiped, more bubbled up from the cut. So he 
twisted his handkerchief tightly around the thumb ; but 
that made a very clumsy thumb to hold a knife with. 
He was wondering what he should do, when he heard 
a voice calling, 

“ I ’ll get a little rag and come out. Tommy.” 

He looked up and could not see Linda ; but as the 
voice came from behind a bedroom blind, he knew she 
must be there. 

“ She did n’t forget me, after all,” thought Tommy. 
“ Never saw such a girl. She must have been watch- 
ing me all this time to see nothing happened to me. 
I ’ll make her a beauty of a parasol.” 

And after Linda had bound the thumb up neatly. 
Tommy worked diligently till he had a flat piece of 
wood with a hole in it, and a stick that fitted the hole. 
After fitting the handle in, he considered the parasol a 
success. 

He was carrying it in to Linda, when he met her 
coming out with her hat on. 


36 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ I ’m going to get Polly,” she said ; “ and mamma 
says you can go in and stay with her or come with 
me.” 

“ I ’ll go with you,”^said Tommy, as he held out 
the parasol and prepared to present it. “ Linda !” 

“ Well,” said Linda. “ What is it, dear?” 

“ Linda, here ’s a present,” said Tommy. “ I 
thought I ’d like to make you something, you know.” 

He expected her to understand why he wished to 
make her something, which she did in a moment, with- 
out need of further explanation. 

“ Oh yes, darling. Thank you. That ’s a good 
little boy,” said Linda. “ Did you make the pretty lit- 
tle footstool all yourself?” 

“ It is n’t a footstool, you know,” said Tommy. 

“ Oh, a piano-stool, of course,” said Linda. 

“ No, it is n’t,” said Tommy. 

“ Why, it is a toad-stool, dear,” said Linda, “ like 
those that grow down by Mr. Mitchell’s. How stupid 
I am !” 

“It isn’t any kind of a stool,” said Tommy 
gloomily. 

“ Oh, a cunning little table for my doll,” said Linda. 
“ Thank you a thousand times.” 

“ It is a parasol !” roared Tommy. “ Should think 
you might know a parasol when you see it. I never 
saw anything like a girl.” 

“ I am a stupid girl,” said Linda, holding the para- 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


37 


sol up toward the sun, and prancing along under the 
little toy. “ But now that I know what it is, I do n’t 
see how I ever could have thought it was anything 
else. Come on, Tommy. It is time for Polly to get 
home.” 

They did not hurry very much, however, for Linda 
amused Tommy all the way to the Symonds’ by walk- 
ing like all the different people she had ever seen under 
a parasol. She pranced and minced, and flirted her 
skirts and hobbled, and then played she was an old 
woman caught out in a storm, and that her parasol was 
a big umbrella, until Tommy was delighted to see in 
what a variety of amusing ways his toy could be 
used. 

“ My doll shall take a walk under it when we get 
home,” said Linda, “ and I will tell her it is a present 
from her uncle Tommy. There ’s Polly with her 
things on. Tommy. She must have got tired of wait- 
ing for me. It looks as if she was coming home.” 

By the time they reached the Symonds’ gate Polly 
flirted out of it. 

“ Bound for home. Poll?” said Tommy. 

“Yes, I am,” said Polly. “I’m glad that Belle 
Symonds is n’t my sister. I would n’t have her. She 
made us pick up our things.” 

“ Well, dear, little girls ought to pick up their 
things,” said Linda. 

“ It spoils all the fun,” said Polly, “ to go pick up 


38 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


your things when you get through playing. I ’d rather 
not play. Bessie told her you always picked up for us 
when she came to play at my house; and she said 
Linda could, if she pleased, but she would n’t. Mean 
old thing !” 

“Never mind, Polly,” said Linda. “Bessie can 
come and play to-morrow, and I ’ll pick up.” 

“ O Linda,” said Polly, “ guess what I got for you — 
something lovely.” 

“ For me?” said Linda. “ How rich I ’ll be. Tom- 
my has just made this parasol for my doll.” 

“ Mine begins with a f,” said Polly. 

“ Sugar-plum ?”, guessed Tomniy. 

“ No,” Polly answered innocently, for she had no 
more idea that sugar-plum did not begin with f than 
that Polly did not begin with g. 

“Gold ring?” 

“ No.” 

“ Candy ?” said Linda. 

“ No ; the first word of it is pop.” 

“ Oh, pop-corn,” said Tommy. 

“There’s more,”, said Polly. “Guess right and 
I ’ll give it to you, Linda.” 

“ Pop-corn ball,” said Linda. “ I might have known 
what it was if I ’d only happened to look down at your 
fat little pocket.” 

The contents of the pocket immediately came forth, 
while Polly said, 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


39 

“You remember that little vase of yours I broke, 
Linda?” 

“ Yes,” said Linda, feeling rather guilty as she 
thought how angry she had been when the accident 
occurred. 

“ This is to make up,” said Polly. 

“ Oh, thank you, darling,” said Linda, “ and if 
Tommy will lend me his knife I ’ll divide it in three 
parts.” 

“ That knife always serves a good turn,” said Tom- 
my, quickly giving it to Linda. 

Then they all sat down, on the grass while Linda 
made a just division of the ball. 

“ What kind little children you are to-day,” she 
said, looking up in the. air; and while Tommy and 
Polly ate and chattered on each side of her, she nib- 
bled the pop-corn slowly and thought. 

Tommy was not sorry for his ingratitude every day; 
Polly did not always give her something to make up 
for the mischief she had done. This was a white day, 
thought Linda, and began to consider why ; for Linda 
always liked to know the reasons of things, and was 
very much given to inquiry into the causes of unusual 
events. 

They had both told her that she was a great deal 
nicer than Belle Symonds ; but Linda could remember 
days when they had told her she was just like Belle, so 
the difference must be in herself; and oh, how glad she 


40 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


was to think that she had been a kinder and more pa- 
tient sister to-day than yesterday. To be sure, she 
had not been perfect, but she had improved, and the 
reason she rejoiced so over the improvement was be- 
cause she had begun the day with a brave resolve. 

Things had been going wrong for several days. 
She had longed to read and study, longed for oppor- 
tunities to write out her thoughts, and had been kept 
particularly busy by mamma and the children. She 
had grown impatient ; she had thought of all the little 
girls who had plenty of time to do what they pleased, 
had become discontented and then cross, and the con- 
sequence was that during the last week she had had 
several quarrels with Tommy and Polly. 

It always made her heart ache when she lay in the 
dark before going to sleep to think of those quarrels, 
and she could quite understand why people had been 
commanded not to let the sun go down upon their 
wrath. There were no sweet dreams and deep repose 
for Linda in the nights that followed quarrelsome days. 

The sun had gone down upon her wrath the night 
before, and she had waked with a heavy heart that 
morning. But when she went to her little “ Dew- 
drops” to learn her daily verse, it seemed as if a voice 
spoke to her, for the verse said, “ Love as brethren, be 
pitiful, be courteous.” 

“ If you and Polly and Tommy are to love as breth- 
ren, and have no quarrels to-day, you will have to be 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


41 


pitiful and courteous to each other, Linda. That is the 
only way,” the voice seemed to say. 

A -great desire came into Linda’s heart to have a 
peaceful, happy day, a desire stronger than the longing 
she felt for reading and dreaming; and it was accom- 
panied by a determination. But, oh, she knew so well 
how weak her strongest determinations were, that she 
kneeled down and prayed that she might be pitiful and 
courteous, so that she and Polly and Tommy might 
love as brethren all day. 

Now more than one impatient word had escaped 
her lips since morning, but many a courteous one had 
followed to take the sting away from it; more than 
once she had felt more inclined to be just than pitiful 
with the children, but, after all, pity had prevailed. 

So Linda knew why the day was ending so pleas- 
antly, and she thanked her heavenly Father that the 
verse for the 20th of August happened to be one that 
she especially needed, and that he had answered her 
prayers by helping her to be more pitiful and courteous 
to-day. 

Polly and Tommy could not imagine why she 
smiled, nor why her lips moved silently ; but they were 
so accustomed to her queer ways that they asked no 
questions. 

Only Polly knocked her elbow, and said, 

“ Will you lend me your little parasol to take my 

dolly walking to-morrow, Linda ?” 

6 


42 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ Yes,” said Linda. 

“ Show her how you can w'alk with it,” said Tommy. 

So Linda entertained Polly on the way home as she 
had entertained Tommy on the way to the Symonds’, 
and they all reached their own gate in great glee. 

Mamma was standing in the door with the baby, 
and Linda ran up to her to show her Tommy’s parasol 
and to tell her also about Polly’s gift. 

“ They are great bothers sometimes,” said mamma. 
“ They worry you and tease you and tire you out ; but 
how they love you, Linda !” 

“ As brethren,” said Linda ; and mamma, who was 
also accustomed to her odd ways, asked no explana- 
tion of the words she did not understand, but let Linda 
walk away, with the dreamy look in her eyes, to muse 
a little further on the Christian graces of pity and cour- 
tesy. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


43 


CHAPTER V. 

It was the time of year when everybody was begin- 
ning to think of school. The children who liked work 
better than play were glad to get out their books and 
prepare for the coming days ; so were the children who 
loved play, and had had so much of it during the long 
summer vacation that they were ready for a change. 
There, were many more of these than of the others; 
but there were also children who liked all play and no 
work, and would have been glad to have the vacation 
last for ever. Belle Symonds was one of them, and 
she poured out her grief to Linda, who listened and 
marvelled. 

How a little girl could be sorry to go to school 
Linda could not understand. She might have poured 
a different story into Belle’s ears. She might have told 
her what a grief it was to her that she had neither 
school-terms nor vacations all the year round, but 
sometimes a little study and sometimes a little play, 
just as it happened, with always plenty of work and 
care at home. 

Linda did not tell Belle those griefs ; but she 
thought how queerly things went in this world, and it 
seemed strange to her that the little girls who longed 


44 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


for school must stay at home, while the little girls who 
hated it must go. 

She had flitted in and out of schoolrooms — there a 
few weeks and at home a few weeks, until it always 
ended in her staying at home altogether. Once when 
she had got nicely started in the studies of the year, 
Tommy took the measles, and was ill so long that 
Linda had to leave her books and assist in the nurs- 
ing. Polly took them, and the baby, and by the time 
they were all well mamma w’as worn out and needed 
Linda. 

Another time they w’ent through just the same ex- 
perience with whooping-cough ; and there were various 
smaller experiences, such as guests, her mamma’s head- 
aches, the children’s toothaches and accidents — indeed 
there seemed no end to the cases of urgent need which 
called Linda from school and kept her out. 

All the while her papa kept losing money; they 
were hard times for everybody, but seemed much 
harder for him than for other men. Linda wondered 
why the hardest of the hard times seemed to fall upon 
her papa; how it happened that among all her little 
friends she was the only one who could have no new 
dresses, the only one who must stay at home and fill 
the place of nursery-maid. 

For that was how it ended. They could not afford 
to keep their nurse any longer, and during the whole 
summer Linda had been helping to fill her place. Now 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


45 


when September came she was not even to attempt 
going to school. It was quite decided that whether 
the children were ill or well, Linda was needed at 
home. 

She was glad to bear her share of the burden that 
had fallen upon the family; and when she saw how 
busy her mamma was all the time, and how cheerfully 
she made over old clothes for herself and the children, 
and did all the housework that the nurse used to do ; 
and when she heard her papa whistling and laughing 
as gayly as ever, though she knew his heart was heavy, 
then Linda felt ashamed to murmur, and determined 
not to care because she could not have her own way. 

But, after all, she was only eleven years old, and 
though she considered herself one of the elder mem- 
bers of the family, and was admitted to mamma’s and 
papa’s councils, and allowed to share their burdens, 
yet she was only four years older than Tommy, who 
seemed such a little child. So it is not surprising that 
she sometimes looked upon things through a child’s 
eyes, and that after leaving Belle Symonds one after- 
noon she thought deeply and sadly upon the strange 
tangle of events about her. 

There was Belle who hated school. Her papa had 
complained of the hard times, but it made no differ- 
ence with his children. They had as many new clothes 
as ever ; they could go to school ; and if Belle only 
loved to study, how happy she could be with her new 


46 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


clothes and new books, pleasant friends about her ; 
and, best of all, every opportunity to find out the won- 
derful causes of living and growing things, and to read 
the lives and stories of those great people who had 
made their names famous for ever by their brave deeds. 

Linda’s ideas of school were quite different from 
Belle’s. She saw* all the romance, Belle all the reality. 
Linda had never stayed in school long enough to learn 
that there was more prose than poetry about it ; and 
thought that she should receive there only a fuller and 
more satisfactory education than at home, but of the 
very same kind. 

At home she dipped into books as a bee dips into 
flowers, gathering honey from those she liked best. 
Here she found a story about some great man, which 
pleased her so well that she always remembered the 
man for the sake of the story ; now she discovered 
what went on under the waves, or down in the heart 
of the earth ; how the creatures of the air lived, and 
how the worlds went rolling around each other far off 
in the sky, and looked like little shining stars to the 
people millions of miles away. 

But while Linda was educating herself so delight- 
fully, and dreaming of school as something much more 
delightful, Belle was counting long lines of hateful fig- 
ures, learning the meanings of words she cared nothing 
about, hunting on maps for places which she never ex- 
pected to visit, and which she was always getting con- 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


47 


fused with other places and other maps, learning more 
dates in her little history than stories, and hardly know- 
ing that there were wonders in the sea and sky. 

So it is not strange that the two little girls misun- 
derstood each other, and that as they parted at the 
corner and went their different ways each envied the 
other and thought that the world was rather upside 
down. 

It was decided that each of the Barto children 
should have a few lessons with their mamma every 
day, and on the first of September they began. Polly 
took her primer and sat down in the corner. Tommy 
looked exceedingly miserable, with his eyes roaming 
from his First Reader to the window, and his thumb 
rolling the corners of the leaves; and Linda, with a 
book in one hand and the baby in the other, was try- 
ing to learn a grammar-lesson, which she hoped to 
have an opportunity of reciting some time during the 
day when she and mamma could get away from the 
children long enough. 

But school did not go off very well. There were 
constant interruptions. When the grocer’s cart came, 
Polly dropped her book and ran to the kitchen to see 
if the boy had brought her a promised bunch of rai- 
sins ; and when the butcher drove around to the back- 
door, Tommy had to go and speak to him, as they 
were very particular friends. Then the baby wanted 
to go to school, too, and pretended to read out of Pol- 


48 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


ly’s primer, which threw her into a fit of laughing that 
quite unfitted her for study. And every time mamma 
went out of the room both Polly and Tommy w^anted 
to follow; or, if they could be persuaded to stay, 
would do nothing but chatter and play till she came 
back. 

So it went on for several days, till mamma and 
Linda began to feel discouraged ; and one evening, 
after the front-door slammed and mamma came up to 
have a little talk, Linda thought of something. 

“We ought to have a real schoolroom aw^ay off by 
itself,” she said, “ where Polly and Tommy could n’t be 
always looking out of the window, and where baby 
could n’t come. I think they would study, mamma, if 
they did n’t have so many other things to think about 
besides their books.” 

“ But I cannot take them off by themselves,” said 
mamma. “ Now that I have to be nursery-maid and 
waitress and seamstress all in one, I cannot give up 
other things long enough to be nothing but a teacher.” 

“ I can teach them,” said Linda. “ I can take them 
into the nursery every morning, and keep them there 
till they have read and spelled. While they are study- 
ing I can be studying too. There are not any windows 
except those that look out into the back-yard. I have 
thought it all out, mamma, and I think it would be nice 
to try it to-morrow.” 

Linda’s little school in the nursery succeeded so 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


49 


well the first day, that on the second day Polly and 
Tommy ran up stairs with their books, as the clock 
struck nine, without any coaxing. They had enjoyed 
their new teacher very much the day before, for she 
praised them for good lessons and rewarded them by a 
delightful story when they were through. 

After that Linda taught from nine till ten every 
morning; but as the novelty wore off her work became 
harder. She not only had to hear Polly and Tommy 
recite their lessons, but she had to help them learn 
them ; she had to keep their attention off from the few 
objects of interest to be seen from the back windows, to 
coax them not to run to the door every time there was 
a sound in the hall, for sometimes a footstep would 
excite them as much as if they heard a band or a hand- 
organ; she had to struggle continually against their 
indifference to their education. Polly sometimes took 
a little real interest in her primer and the other branches 
of knowledge which Linda tried to impart ; but Tommy 
declared that he would just as soon be a man that 
couldn’t read and write as not. He didn’t care how 
much two and two made, he said. He would just as 
soon it would be nine as four. It was nothing to him 
whether the world was round or flat, or whether it 
moved or stood still; he just wished they’d let him 
alone, and not bother him with such stuff If they ’d 
let him go round where he pleased, with his knife in 
his pocket, that was all he ’d ask of anybody. 

7 


50 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


Linda had all Tommy’s objections to an education 
to meet and answer every morning. Over and over 
she tried to persuade him that it was not desirable to 
grow up a dunce, and to coax him at least to learn his 
lessons to please her, if not for his own good. 

She found that she could not study and teach at the 
same time; and although her school lasted only one 
hour, she was so tired after it that she did not feel like 
learning her own lessons immediately ; and as soon as 
she was ready to study, the baby was very apt to want 
her, or perhaps Polly had cut her finger, or Tommy 
had run away, or her mamma must send her on an 
errand; so that Linda’s education progressed under 
difficulties, for often after she had managed to learn 
her lessons, it was quite impossible to get away with 
mamma long enough to recite them. 

Often, when she saw Belle Symonds passing the 
house with her books under her arm, she thought of 
herself with shame as belonging to the uneducated 
ranks who make no progress in knowledge day by day. 
She did not know that, with all her disadvantages, she 
was progressing more rapidly than Belle, and that a 
desire to learn is a greater blessing than the most favor- 
able opportunities without that desire ; for what people 
wish to know, they generally will know by some means 
or other. Although Linda’s recitations to mamma be- 
came more irregular all the time, and were often omit- 
ted altogether, yet she gleaned little lessons from books 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


SI 

every day of her life, and was acquiring a good deal of 
general information, while Belle was groaning over 
dates and figures. But mamma noticed that Linda 
was becoming rather melancholy under the weight of 
her new burdens — that her tendency to see the dark 
side of things was increasing; and like the kind and 
loving mamma that she was, she thought Linda’s trou- 
bles over and over until she began to see a way out of 
them, although it was a way that would be far from 
pleasant for herself. 


52 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


CHAPTER VI. 

One night when Linda was going to bed the moon 
looked in at her window with such a great, round, 
bright face, that Linda leaned her elbows on the sill 
and looked back at her as if she were a guest who 
must be entertained. The moon seemed such a real, 
live, thing that Linda felt as if there were two people 
sending glances at each other from earth and sky ; and 
the longer she gazed the more the feeling grew upon 
her, until she began to talk to her companion. 

She had not talked in rhyme for a long while. Her 
school had had a very prosaic effect upon her. She 
had no opportunity to dream from nine to ten, as Polly 
and Tommy demanded her closest attention, and that 
one very practical hour had seemed to cast its shadow 
over all the hours of the day and interfere with her 
dreams and poetry even in idle moments. But to-night 
she was unusually discouraged, and her thoughts were 
full of herself, so that the influence of the moon was all 
that was needed to make her gloomy fancies flow into 
words. She ran for pencil and paper, and laying the 
paper on the window-sill, wrote by the light which 
streamed down from the sky : 


OUT OF THE .FOLD, 


53 


“ Oh, I ’d like to be a moon, 

Or a star. 

Because then I could travel 
Afar, 

“ And see everything 
Down below. 

And learn all that I 
Long to know ! 

“ Oh, I wish I could read 
All the day ! 

Oh, how I hate work 
And love play ! 

“ I have to teach and toil 
Like a slave. 

Oh, why cannot people have 
What they crave ?” 

After putting such thoughts into words they tad a 
still greater influence over her, and she went to bed 
feeling very discontented, and wondering and wonder- 
ing why people could not have what they wanted, and 
why one person had so much more than another. 

She awoke in the same mood, and went into the 
schoolroom poorly prepared for Polly and Tommy. 

Tommy was lying over a footstool, with his hands 
and feet dashing wildly about in the air. 

“I’m a sea-lion,” he said. “ Get out of my way, 
Linda. I ’m going to swim over that way. Clear the 
road !” 

As the stool had castors which moved easily, Tom- 


54 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


my’s violent motions made it go wherever he pleased, 
and before Linda could escape he had nearly knocked 
her over. 

“ Do n’t be rude,” said Linda. 

“ Do n’t be cross,” said Tommy. 

Linda heeded the warning, and said pleasantly, 

“ I ’m glad you have n’t forgotten about the sea-lion,' 
Tommy. Do you remember all I told you in school 
yesterday?” 

Tommy replied by opening his mouth and letting 
out a tremendous roar as he swam towards her again. 

Linda put her fingers in her ears, but she could not 
complain that Tommy had forgotten where the sea- 
lion got Its name. 

“But they are very peaceable animals. Tommy,” 
she said, as he whirled his stool about and began to 
pursue Polly, with an expression as fierce as his roar. 

“ When they ’re let alone they are,” said Tommy ; 
“ but if you bother them, you know, they wont stand 
it. That’s what you told us. Polly stole my slate- 
pencil and broke it in forty pieces, and this lion’s mad.” 

He struck against his little sister so violently as to 
knock her over, and while Linda picked her up and 
tried to soothe her, she said, 

“ I only wish you would remember all your lessons 
as well as you did that one, Tommy. I never knew 
you learn a lesson as well.” 

“That is because it’s interesting,” said Tommy. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


55 


“ If you ’d make them all interesting I ’d learn them 
for you.” 

“ You always talk as if you were doing me a great 
favor to come to school,” said Linda, tossing her head. 
“ I think it is the other way. I do n’t think every sis- 
ter would bother to teach little children that wont be 
good and don’t like to learn.” 

“Belle Symonds wouldn’t,” said Tommy. “But 
I ’m not Belle, you know. I ’m better than Belle Sy- 
monds any day.” And Tommy tossed up his head in 
imitation of Linda. 

“ I did n’t say so,” said Linda. “ But I ’d like to 
change places with her and have a good time for a lit- 
tle while.” 

Polly began to pout and Tommy to whistle a saucy 
air. Neither of them knew exactly why, but there was 
something the matter. They felt uncomfortable, and 
the morning had begun badly. 

Linda rang her little bell. Polly flounced into her 
seat, and Tommy stamped across the room to his. 

“Don’t make such a noise,” said Linda. 

“Don’t! don’t! don’t!” said Tommy. “This is 
one of the days when Linda begins everything she 
says with do n’t.” 

Linda rang a second bell and Polly and Tommy 
opened their books. 

Linda felt more tired than she often did at the close 
of school, and the children looked as cross as if they 


56 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


had been confined for an hour. She wondered what 
was the matter with them this morning, but underneath 
that wonder was another which would have explained 
everything. Over and over those foolish words,’ “ Oh, 
why cannot people have what they crave?” kept 
repeating themselves in Linda’s mind. She wondered 
why and wondered why, until she could hardly give 
her attention to the lessons. It was her own discon- 
tent which made the children discontented this morning. 
Her mood was always theirs, and if she had not kept 
wondering about her own troubles she would have 
had no occasion to wonder about their crossness. She 
thought her foolish rhymes were poetry, and enjoyed 
saying them over and making herself gloomy. 

“Linda’s dreaming,” said Polly to Tommy, in a 
loud whisper. 

“I’m a martyr. See me burn !” replied Tommy, 
in another great whisper. 

Tommy’s remarks always had an effect upon Linda, 
and although she pretended not to hear the whispers, 
the martyr-like expression of her face changed very 
quickly, and she called Polly over to recite her lesson 
in a moment. Polly did not know it, so Linda sat 
down by her and pronounced the hard words and 
helped her learn them. There was no more dreaming 
until she had disposed of Polly ; but when she came to 
Tommy he was so determined to look out of the 
window and pay no attention whatever to anything 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


57 


she was saying- that she felt tempted to leave him to 
his lazy mood and be lazy also. 

So Linda stopped repeating the words of Tommy’s 
spelling lesson and urging him to repeat them after 
her. She dropped her elbows on his desk, her face 
into her hands and followed Tommy’s gaze which was 
wandering through the window-pane away off toward 
the top of a tall barn. 

But Tommy was as particular about having Linda 
pay strict attention to her business as if he had paid 
her a large salary for doing so. He might be an inat- 
tentive scholar, but it was not at all proper that she 
should be an inattentive teacher. 

When he saw that she was looking at the barn he 
looked away from it. 

“Why don’t you teach me?” said he. 

“Because you wont learn,” said Linda, still gazing 
at the barn, and then following the flight of a bird 
which went up from the roof, up and up and out of 
sight. 

She wondered where it had gone. She wondered 
if there was a place on any of those blue and white 
clouds, which looked as light as snowflakes, which was 
strong enough to bear the weight of a bird if it should 
wish to fold its wings and rest for a while. She 
wondered where birds did rest anyway after they 
had travelled miles beyond the tree- tops. She won- 
dered if they fell down and broke their wings and 
8 


58 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


came bruised and bleeding to earth. Oh, she hoped 
not ! 

“What are you sighing about?” said Tommy. 
“ Here, come out of the clouds and teach me. Teach- 
ers do n’t dream till school’s .out.” 

“ I wont teach you unless you learn,” said Linda. 

“ I told you I ’d learn if you made it interesting,” 
said Tommy. “It’s your business to make it inter- 
esting.” 

Linda’s eyes had not moved from the clouds, but 
she was thinking now, not of the bird which had just 
disappeared among them, but of the bright things 
which she saw up there last night ; and as Tommy 
demanded that she should be interesting she remem- 
bered something to tell him about the stars. 

“ Oh, it is lovely !” she said, turning towards him 
with a sudden smile. 

“ What, my nose ?” said Tommy. “ That ’s what 
you ’re looking at.” 

“ But that is n’t what I ’m thinking of,” said Linda. 
“I’m thinking of something interesting I can tell you. 
Tommy. It is so beautiful that I am sure you can 
never forget it.” 

“Well, let’s have it,” said Tommy indifferently. 

“ Learn your spelling first, dear,” said Linda. 

“Well, can’t you make spelling interesting too?” 
said Tommy. 

“ I ’m afraid not very,” Linda answered hopelessly. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


59 


“ I Ve tried so many times, and you wont like it what- 
ever I say and do, Tommy. The only way is to learn 
it and get through with it ; and think how glad you ’ll 
be when it ’s all over.” 

“ Oh, that ’s easy to say when it is n’t over,” said 
Tommy, flinging his hands into his hair, and looking 
down with a scowl at the spelling-book. 

“ O Tommy !” said Linda, clapping her hands. 

“ Well, what now ?” said Tommy. 

“ I thought it would be enough reward for learning 
your spelling if I told you something very interesting 
after it ; but besides that I ’ll give you a prize, Tommy. 
A prize ! Just think of it !” 

“ What kind ?” said Tommy with a lazy groan, 
drumming a tune on his desk, and gazing away from 
the spelling-book to the barn. 

Linda knew that his face would not look so dull 
and indifferent after her answer, and she enjoyed the 
bright intelligent expression which dawned upon 
Tommy’s features as she said “ My orange !” 

It was an unusually large orange which her papa 
had brought her the night before as her wages for 
teaching his children, he said, and Tommy and Polly 
had cast longing glances upon it. 

“ I would n’t want to take it away from you,” said 
Tommy. 

“ But if you earn it I ’ll be glad to give it to you,” 
said Linda. “ Teachers always give prizes to help 


Co 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


children study, you know ; and I never thought to do 
it before.” 

“ All right,” said Tommy, bending his head over 
his book; and he studied so hard that Linda felt 
almost provoked that what Tommy could do for a 
prize he would not do without. But she was trying 
to be patient ; and she did not rebuke him. She only 
improved the opportunity to give all her attention to 
Polly. 



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OUT OF THE FOLD, 


6i 


CHAPTER VII. 

Polly sometimes rewarded Linda’s efforts by taking 
an interest in what was told her and making intelligent 
remarks and asking helpful questions. But Polly had 
begun the morning wrong to-day. Linda’s discontent 
had offended her, and when Linda sat down beside 
her she said, 

“ Do n’t see why you do n’t give me a prize too.” 

“ O Polly, do n’t bother me,” said Linda. “ Learn 
your lesson and stop talking about other things.” 

“ I wont learn it without a prize,” said Polly. 

“ I ’ll give you an apple,” said Linda. 

“ Tommy ’s going to have an orange,” said Polly. 

“Well, I can’t give you what I haven’t got,” said 
Linda, jumping up and walking away. “ If you do n’t 
want the apple you can go without anything. I ’m 
tired of teaching such children.” 

“ Oh, why cannot people have what they crave ?” 
thought she, as she sat down in her own chair, across 
the room from Polly. “ Why can’t I have a little rest 
and peace ?” 

By this time Polly was at the window. 

“I see an old hen,” said Polly. “She is flapping 
her wings. I guess she ’s going to crow.” 


62 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ Hens crow !” said Tommy, preparing to follow 
her to the window. 

“ Remember the prize !” said Linda sternly, and 
Tommy popped back into his seat. 

Polly whirled around in the middle of the room 
and dropped down on the floor to make her skirts 
puff out like a balloon. 

“Get out of my light,” said Tommy, “and attend 
to your lessons.” 

Linda knew that Polly .was naughty and trying to 
annoy her, so she turned over the leaves of a book 
and pretended not to notice her. She felt very angry. 
Everything was going wrong this morning. 

Polly jumped away from Tommy towards the door, 
opened it a crack and said, “ I ’m going down stairs 
a minute.” 

“ If you do, mamma ’ll punish you,” said Linda. 
“ I shall tell her you had no permission.” 

“ Cross-patch, draw the latch,” said Polly. 

“ If you do n’t behave better I wont teach you any 
more,” said Linda. 

“ Wish you would n’t,” said Polly. “ Guess I ’ll go 
play with baby.” 

She knew, however, that she would be punished if 
she went down stairs without Linda’s permission, and 
so paused on the doorsill, balancing herself on the toes 
of one foot and tipping almost over on her nose, now 
towards the hall, now towards the schoolroom, till 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 63 

Tommy banged the covers of his spelling-book to- 
gether, and shouted, 

“ I know it !” 

By that time Polly seemed to have concluded that 
a poor prize was better than none, and walking back 
to her seat, said kindly, 

“ Well, Linda, I ’ll take the apple.” 

Linda felt tempted to tell her that it was too late 
now ; but for the sake of peace let Polly go her own 
way. She jumped into her seat so hard that she shook 
Tommy’s slate off his desk. 

“You are always breaking things,” said Tommy, 
running to pick it up, and finding a crack across 
it. “ There are my slate and pencil both gone in 
one morning. Did you ever see such a smasher, 
Linda ?” 

“ No,” said Linda. “ I found five more teeth bro- 
ken out of my comb this morning, Polly Barto. I for- 
got to speak of it before.” 

“ I wondered why you did n’t,” said Polly. “ You ’re 
so cross this morning I thought you ’d be sure to say 
something about it.” 

“She broke a handle off from a coffee-cup after 
breakfast, too,” said Tommy, still grumbling over his 
slate. 

“ You ’re getting old enough to outgrow that dread- 
ful habit of breaking everything you touch,” said 
Linda. 


^4 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ I wont take your old apple, .Linda Barto,” said 
Polly, with a pout. 

“ Come, Tommy,” said Linda. 

While he recited his spelling Polly kept thinking of 
the apple till she wanted it very much. 

“ Well, I ’ll take it, Linda,” she said once more, and 
began to study very hard. 

So there was peace for a while as Polly studied and 
Tommy recited. The diligent student and the perfect 
recitation cheered the little teacher’s heart and put her 
into good humor for giving Tommy the interesting 
lesson she had promised. 

“How beautifully you recited. Tommy,” she said. 
“ If you would only study so hard every day.” 

“ Oh, well, never mind about that now,” said Tom- 
my. “ Give us that interesting lesson.” 

“ When you look up in the sky at night. Tommy,” 
Linda began. 

“ I do n’t,” said Tommy. “ I go to bed. Catch 
me star-gazing.” 

“You do look at the stars sometimes,” said Linda. 
“ Everybody does. If you ’re going to interrupt me I 
can’t tell you about it.” 

“Well, if you’re awfully interesting I ’ll let you go 
on,” said Tommy. 

But Linda drummed upon the table a few minutes, 
and found it rather difficult to get into the right humor 
for her lesson again. 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 65 

“ When I look up into the sky at night, Linda,” 
said Tommy in a coaxing way, giving her fingers an 
affectionate pat with the tips of his own. 

“Then,” said Linda, feeling her interest in her sub- 
ject quite restored by that pat, “ you see ever and ever 
so many stars moving all about the sky.” 

“They’re always standing still when I look at 
them,” said Tommy. 

“ I know you can’t see them move,” said Linda ; 
“ but if you look away and look back after a while you 
can see they have gone farther on. And every little 
star moves very fast all the time. Tommy; and it’s 
only because you ’re so far away that they seem to be 
standing still. If you were near enough you could see 
them all running around the sky.” 

“ Playing tag?” said Tommy. 

“ Well,” said Linda, “ I suppose it would look as if 
they were running about any way they pleased ; but 
they are all moving in time, and going just where they 
are sent. They can’t stop if they want to, and they 
can’t go where they please at all ; but one goes around 
another, and ever so many little ones go around a big 
one ; and then the big one and little ones together all 
go around another big one, and so it keeps on till all 
the stars and suns and moons are moving round each 
other in time.” 

“ It ’s like keeping step to a tune,” said Tommy. 
“ Does anybody play a fiddle to keep them on time ?” 

■"I 

9 


66 


OUT OF THB FOLD, 


“ Oh, now I am coming to the lovely part of it,” 
said Linda. “ Of course they do n’t have any music 
to move to, but in the old, old times people used to 
think they did, only they thought they played their 
own tune. Do you know what music is. Tommy?” 

“ Why, it ’s music,” said Tommy. “ Singing and 
playing ,on the piano and all that.” 

“ It is nothing but sounds that keep time,” said 
Linda.' “ That is music. And people used to think 
that when the stars moved against the air they made a 
noise.” 

“ The way a bird’s wings do, I suppose,” said Tom- 
my. 

, Only a different sound,” said Linda. “ Well, of 
course all the sounds that all the stars made kept such 
good time that it was music, lovely music — the music 
of the spheres is what they called it. Whenever you 
hear people talking about the music of the spheres, 
you ’ll know what they mean by it, Tommy.” 

“I never hear anybody,” said Tommy; “and if 
there is n’t any music, what ’s the good of making so 
much talk about it? If somebody only thought so 
ever so long ago, that ’s nothing.” 

“ Well,” said Linda, “ there was one man who said 
he heard it.” 

“ Did he tell a lie?” said Tommy. 

“ He was a good man,” said Linda, “ and very 
great and wise, and he knew more about the stars than 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


67 


any one who lived in the old times. No. I ’m sure he 
did n’t tell a lie. But he thought he heard it, if he 
didn’t. His name was Pythagoras. I know he didn’t 
tell a lie, Tommy. But perhaps he looked and looked 
at the stars till he dreamed the music.” 

“ He ought not to be dreaming things that were n’t 
true,” said Tommy, who had always a rebuke ready 
for dreamers, “and I don’t see what’s the good of 
your telling me all that if it never happened.” 

“ I love to think that the stars make music,” said 
Linda dreamily, “and I wish I could hear what he 
thought he heard.” 

“ You ’ll be thinking you hear it next,” said Tommy 
contemptuously, “ and it ’s nothing, after all. Give me 
my orange, Linda.” 

“ I ’ll get it,” said Linda, walking out of the room, 
quite discouraged. “ Oh, why cannot people have 
what they crave?” she thought. “Why should stu- 
pid people like Tommy and Belle Symonds have all 
the advantages ? Why can’t I have a teacher to 
take pains with me as I take pains with him ? It ’s 
all thrown away on him, but it would n’t be on 
me. There ’s no use in bothering with Tommy any 
longer.” 

She did not feel at all inclined to give him the big 
orange which was the reward of yesterday’s toil, and 
considered that sacrifice a part of the great trial she 
was undergoing. Surely everything was upside down 


68 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


when she must give up her orange, earned at such a 
cost, to the little boy on whom her efforts had been 
wasted. 

While she was out of the schoolroom she thought 
she had better run down and get Polly’s apple, and as 
she came up the stairs with the big yellow orange in 
one hand and the little red apple in the other, a bright 
thought occurred to her. If Tommy could not under- 
stand how one small world went around a larger one, 
it was natural perhaps that he should not be much in- 
terested in the music they might make as they moved. 
She had heard of object- teaching, and here was a good 
opportunity for her to practise it. The little apple 
should represent our earth, the big orange the sun, and 
she would make Tommy understand it all by the plain- 
est kind of teaching. 

“O Tommy,” said she, as she opened the school- 
room door, “ I ’ll show you just how it is. Here ’s the 
big sun and here ’s the little earth. You see the stem 
of the apple. Well, suppose that goes all the way 
through it, and the apple turns around it, and while 
it ’s turning around on that it keeps going around the 
sun all the time, too. See, this is the way.” 

“ It is n’t a sun. It ’s my orange,” said Tommy. 
“Don’t be spoiling good things calling them such 
names.” 

“ And it is n’t an old earth ; it ’s my nice little red 
apple,” said Polly. “ Please give it to me.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


69 


“ I never saw such children,” said Linda. “ It is 
discouraging.” She gave them each their prizes, and 
went through the rest of the morning without an at- 
tempt to make things interesting ; and more than ever 
she wondered at their indifference to learning and at 
her lack of opportunities. 


70 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

As she came down stairs her mother noticed her 
sad face, and also the mischievous, defiant expression 
of Polly’s, while Tommy looked sullen and gloomy. 

“ Did n’t school go well to-day, dear ?” she asked 
Linda. 

“ I never have had such .a horrid time,” said Linda. 

“ What was the trouble ?” said mamma. 

“ Linda was cross,” replied Polly and Tommy, al- 
most in the same breath. 

“ Linda needs a vacation,” said mamma quietly. 

Perhaps it was that very gentleness that made Linda 
wonder about the answer to mamma’s question. Were 
Polly and Tommy right ? Was she cross ? Was all 
the trouble in herself? Did it all come from her own 
discontent ? And had those foolish rhymes, which she 
had thought so fine and had kept repeating, anything 
to do with it ? 

“ After all, Linda,” said mamma, “ the day is only 
begun. You are very tired with that one hour of 
school, I can see ; but there are ever so many hours 
left for you to get rested in, and I am not going to let 
you work any more to-day. You shall read or play, 
or do whatever you like, and these children are not to 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


71 


trouble you at all. I will be nurse, and let my sewing 
go until to-morrow.” 

“ O mamma, and will you play with us and every- 
thing, the way Linda does ? What fun !” said Polly. 

“ I am afraid I shall not be as patient with you as 
Linda is,” said mamma. “ Come, run away, little 
woman, and get that cloud of care off your brow.” 

“ I don’t know what to do first,” said Linda. 

“ I thought there were so many things you were 
always longing for time to do that you would n’t have 
any difficulty in beginning,” said mamma. 

“ I can always think of plenty of things when I 
can’t do them,” Linda said, laughing; “but then, of 
course, I ’ll read ; I would always rather read than any- 
thing else.” 

“ I do n’t want to interfere with any of your plans 
when the day is entirely your own, dear,” said mam- 
ma; “but if I can help you to enjoy it better, I sup- 
pose you wont mind my making a suggestion, will 
you ?” 

“ Oh, no, indeed,” said Linda. 

“ I do n’t think that teacher’s tired little brain is in 
just the condition to enjoy reading,” said mamma, “and 
I am sure any book will be much more interesting after 
a little fresh air ; so I advise you to put on your hat 
and get a breath of morning air the first thing you do. 
How would you like to go down to papa’s office ?” 

“ Oh, I ’d love to go,” said Linda. 


72 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ Let me go with her,” said Polly. 

“ I want to go to the office too,” said Tommy. 

“ No, Linda is going alone,” said mamma. “ She 
has had enough of children for one day. It always 
does you good to see papa, Linda. It ’s like sunshine, 
is n’t it ?” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Linda; “but he’s generally so 
busy that you wont let me go to the office.” 

“ I know it,” said mamma ; “ but I think he will 
make time for you to-day.” 

Linda fancied that mamma spoke a little sadly, and 
she wondered why papa could make time for her to- 
day more than any other day. 

“ I am anxious to hear from the mail this morn- 
ing,” said mamma ; “ and you can ask papa if there are 
any letters, and then stay a few minutes if he invites 
you.” 

Linda rather missed Polly and Tommy after she 
had been out in the fresh air a few moments. She 
found her discontent and her dull headache blowing 
away in the morning breeze, and by the time she 
reached papa’s office her heart was so full of sunshine 
that she hardly needed his to warm and cheer her. 

However, she found papa’s face as bright as ever ; 
and the lines of thought and care which had been there 
the moment before she opened the door smoothed out 
into a smile as he said, 

“ Well, little woman.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


73 


“ I Ve come for a letter,” said she, as she jumped 
on his knee and gave him a kiss. 

“ How did you know there was a letter this 
morning ?” 

“ I know mamma wanted one, so of course there 
ought to be one ; and if you do n’t give it me I shall 
have to search your pockets.” 

But papa held her hands so tightly that his pockets 
were quite safe. Although Linda was agile and 
strong, she could not get her wrists out of his grasp ; 
and finally, quite overcome with her efforts, she laid 
her head on his shoulder and sighed. 

“ Your cheeks look quite ruddy now,” said papa. 
“ Exercise improves your appearance, Linda. It 
would do you good to come down here and have a 
romp with me every morning.” 

“You wouldn’t let me,” said Linda. “Why do 
you let me stay this morning, papa ? What made you 
lay down that pen and take me up instead of sending 
me off?” 

Was it only a fancy, or did papa look sad too when 
she asked him that question ? What did it all mean ? 

“ Did you ever hear that blessings brighten as they 
take their flight?” said papa, pinching her cheek. 
“ There, I have made it redder than it was before. I 
like to see you with red cheeks, Linda. I like to see 
you a healthy, happy little girl. I thought you were 
looking rather pale and dismal when I saw you early 

lO 


74 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


this morning. What were you dreaming about ? 
Were you trying to find an answer in dream-land to the 
question why people cannot have what they ci;ave ?” 

If Linda’s cheeks were red before, they were bla- 
zing now. 

“You left your latest poem in plain sight on your 
bureau,” said papa, “ and I read it at half-past six this 
morning, when you were sound asleep.” 

Linda hung her head low and tried to hide her eyes 
from his. 

“ Polly had one of her breaking days yesterday,” 
said papa cheerily, “and mamma wanted me to mend 
a chair before I came to the office; and as my little 
woman was not awake to trot up and down stairs hunt- 
ing for my hammer, I had to hunt for it myself. That 
was what took me to your room. I did n’t know but 
you might have been using it to pound some rhymes 
out of your brain. Or do they come without that ? Is 
it easy to make poetry — eh, Linda ?” 

“ Did you — find the hammer ?” asked Linda in a 
smothered voice from papa’s vest. 

“Yes — I found it,” said papa, imitating her tones. 
“ Lift your head, baby. I promise not to tease you. 
Peek-a-boo !” 

His laughing eyes, which would see hers, made her 
laugh too ; but the face which he held between his hands 
and lifted to his was still blushing and ashamed. 

“ I promise not to tease you,” said papa. “ But as 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


75 


long as you have asked that question, why people can- 
not have what they want in this life, may I conclude 
that you want an answer to it ?” 

“ Yes,” said Linda. 

“ And would you like to have me answer it ?” 

“Yes, papa,” said Linda, wondering at his serious- 
ness. 

“ I wont scold you for asking it,” said papa, “ for 
you have only done what all the world does. It is a 
very common question, little woman ; but the older 
people get, the less they ask it. People have to travel 
a long way in life sometimes to find the very simple 
answer to that question.” 

“ Have you found it ?” said Linda. 

“ Well, Linda,” said papa, “ I find it and lose it, 
and find it again ; but I succeed in keeping it most ot 
the time. I at least know perfectly well what it is.” 

“ What is it ?” said Linda. 

“ The only reason we do not have what we want is 
because we do not want good enough things. We all 
have some One taking care of us who loves us better 
than we love ourselves ; and if we do not wish for the 
best things, that wise love gives them to us in spite of 
our wishes. Then we think that, because we are not 
having our own way, we are being treated unkindly. 
How foolish and childish that seems ; does n’t it, 
Linda?” 

“ Yes,” said Linda. 


76 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ Then by-and-by there comes a day when we see 
things differently. Our eyes open wider, and the 
things that are really best for us seem better than 
those we wanted so much. But we do not expect little 
girls always to see wisely, especially as their papas and 
mammas often fail to do it. There will surely come a 
time to you, Linda, when you can understand why it 
was not best that all your wishes should be gratified. 
It may not come till you are a woman, or it may come 
while you are a little girl. But whether it comes early 
or late, there is only one thing for you to do while you 
are waiting for it.” 

“ What is that ?” said Linda. 

“Trust the love that is taking care of you while 
you are waiting. Have faith in the wisdom that plans 
your life, and try and take the life just as it is, and 
make the best of it, whether you like it altogether or 
not. Then you will have found the true secret of hap- 
piness. Many people in this world only find the secret 
of a happy life as they are about to leave it. How sad 
it seems that they should not have found it in the be- 
ginning, and have had it to help them all along their 
way ; does n’t it ?” 

“ Yes,” said Linda ; “ but, papa, how can you help 
wondering why some people have things and others 
don’t? How can you help thinking things are un- 
fair?” 

“ If your heart is full of love for God, it will be im- 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


77 


possible to think him unfair,” said papa. “ If you love 
him enough, you will trust him. You can only keep 
such thoughts as that you put in your rhyme out of 
your mind by first filling it with better thoughts. Sup- 
pose that, instead of allowing yourself to think in that 
fashion, you had gone to your Bible and found some 
such verse as, ‘The trying of your faith worketh pa- 
tience.’ Do n’t you think it would have seemed easier 
to bear your trials if you had thought that God sent 
them to make the beautiful grace of patience grow? 
Or if you had found, ‘ Our light affliction, which is but 
for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and 
eternal weight of glory,’ do n’t you suppose the afflic- 
tion would have seemed very light and the moment 
nothing compared to the glory they were bringing 
you ? Then you should have read, ‘ He doth not afflict 
willingly ;’ and how sweet it would have been to think 
that it grieves him to give you pain, although he knows 
the joy that is coming after it, and that the pain itself 
is only for a moment. ‘As many as I love I rebuke,’ 
would have been a good verse to follow, and you could 
have gone to sleep resting in that love. If you had 
found no verse at all but ‘ God is love,’ it would have 
been enough for you to rest in, Linda, and quite 
enough to have driven that evil thought out of your 
mind. You have learned the twenty-third psalm, 
have n’t you ?” 

“ Yes, papa.” 


78 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“Well, I don’t know but that is about the best 
thing for a little girl to say, after all. I think I will 
have you make me a promise.” 

“What is it?” 

“ I think I will ask you to promise that for the next 
three months, whenever gloomy, discontented thoughts 
come into your mind, or any troubles seem too great 
for you to bear, you will say, ‘ The Lord is my shep- 
herd ; I shall not want.’ Nothing can be more helpful 
and comforting to a little girl than the thought that she 
is a lamb in the good Shepherd’s fold, and that he will 
guard her and keep her from all danger, and make her 
lie down in green pastures, and lead her beside still 
waters. For the next three months will you say that 
psalm when things go wrong, Linda ?” 

“Yes, papa; but why for three months?” 

“ I will tell you that some other time,” said papa ; 
“ and here is the letter you were asking for.” 

Linda saw that it had been opened. 

“ I have read it,” said papa. “ It is from Aunt Be- 
linda.” 

“ My aunt,” said Linda. 

“ Yes, your aunt. She is very fond of you, she al- 
ways says, and thinks we might spare you to her, when 
we have four children and she has none.” 

“ You could n’t spare me, could you, papa ?” 

“ Not very easily,” said papa. “ ‘ East or west, 
hame is best.’ That ’s a line of poetry I like. I do n’t 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


79 


like much poetry, but that is a good line, I think, Lin- 
da. Now trot along home, and remember all I Ve said 
to you. I never said so much before in my life at a 
time, did I ?” 

“ No, papa, I do n’t believe you ever did,” said 
Linda. “ It ’s lovely to stay in your office. I wish 
you ’d always let me.” 

“ This is an extra occasion,” said papa. “ By-by.” 

Why was it an extra occasion, Linda wondered ; 
and why, she wondered, did mamma appear with traces 
of tears on her cheeks after reading Aunt Belinda’s 
letter ? 


8o 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“ Hurry up and get ready for our party, Linda,” 
said Polly. “ Tommy ’s been saving the orange till 
you got home.” 

“ Me go too,” screamed the baby. 

“No,” said Tommy, “mamma said you couldn’t 
come to the party and bother Linda.” 

After her walk in the fresh air and her talk with 
papa, Linda felt far from nervous, and was quite 
ashamed that the baby should be considered a bother 
to its sister. So she took it up in her arms, and said, 

“You shall come, darling. Linda wants you.” 

“ But this is your holiday, dear, and I am nurse,” 
said mamma. 

“ Never mind,” said Linda. “ I will have time 
enough for reading by-and-by.” 

So they had a merry time in the schoolroom, which 
quite took away the memory of all the unpleasant oc- 
currences of the morning, and Linda forgot that she 
had ever been a discouraged little schoolmistress as 
she ran into the library to do whatever she pleased all 
by herself. 

She sat down in the window-seat. But instead ol 
dreaming at once, she began to think of her talk with 
papa. It was so unusual for him to talk long and 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


§i 

gravely to her, that she wondered how it had happened 
this morning, and she also thought over everything he 
had said, making much of the words, as we do of what- 
ever is rare. 

What a beautiful thing, thought Linda, to discover 
the secret of happiness when one was a little child, and 
carry it in one’s heart like a charm all through the 
years of life. Could it be that what was within one had 
more to do with happiness than what was without? 
She knew that a wrong mood made everything go 
wrong, and that when she was light-hearted she could 
overlook many little things that would annoy her at 
another time. The pleasant mornings in school were 
always the mornings when she woke determined to be 
patient and cheerful — not the mornings when she was 
wishing for all the things she could not have, and won- 
dered why people must be denied the things they 
craved. Her cheeks burned when she thought of that 
poem papa had found on her bureau. 

Yes, Linda’s own little experience proved that the 
secret of happiness was to be found within one. Papa 
was right ; and yet she did long to try the kind that 
comes from without. It seemed as if the things she 
wanted most must bring her the greatest joy. At any 
rate, how she would like to try and see. She would 
like to prove by her own experience whether it was not 
a great deal nicer to have what one wanted than to go 
without it. 


II 


82 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


How could she help being happy with plenty of 
time to read and study about all the wonderful things 
on the earth,' above and. below, it? . How could she 
help being happy with a piano on which she could 
learn to make music? Think of being able to make 
the music that was in one’s heart come out of one’s 
fingers ! She drummed on the window-sill, and pre- 
tended, there were keys answering to the touch of her 
swift fingers, and played so fast and grew so excited 
that she could almost hear the little melody in her 
mind coming out of the window-sill. 

“ But it is n’t a piano,” she said, throwing up her 
hands in disdain. “ Not much like the lovely one of 
Belle Symonds that makes real music. Oh, I wish I 
had one !” •• 

And how could she help being happy if she had a 
microscope ? . When she was a very little girl she used 
to believe in fairies, and go about peeping into flowers 
to find them ; and she could never pass clear, shining 
water without looking down for a mermaid. She used 
to think that the fairy world could be seen if one only 
found the door and the key by which to enter, and she 
searched at the roots of trees and in the mossy crev- 
ices of rocks for an entrance like that described in the 
fairy-tales. 

But now she knew that there was a real invisible 
world more wonderful than Fairyland, which could be 
discovered only by looking through a glass that made 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


S3 

its tiny living creatures large enough for human eyes 
to see. What the key to Fairyland would have been 
to her when she was younger and less wise, a micro- 
scope would be now, and she wanted it quite as much 
as she used to want the key. 

Think of looking through this magic glass and 
having a drop of water become an ocean full of beau- 
tiful, bright- colored creatures floating and swimming 
about! Linda had heard that there were grains of 
wheat, and even tiny grains of sand, in which little fam- 
ilies lived. Oh, how she would like to take a peep at 
them through the magic glass, and see how they kept 
house and what they did with themselves all day. 

She felt quite sure, as she sat in the window-seat 
thinking of her papa’s' words, that although the bright- 
ness which a happy heart can cast outward on unpleas- 
ant things was very desirable, yet she would like to 
try how much brightness pleasant things could cast in- 
ward on her heart. 

But Linda had no idea that she should have an 
opportunity to try ; that . God .was going to treat her 
as he often treats his children — let her have her own 
way in order that she might become satisfied with 
his way. She little knew, as she dreamed in the 
window-seat, how soon her dreams were going to 
come true. 

But she began to think that she had wasted enough 
time in dreaming, and that she had better be enjoying 


84 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


this rare holiday. So she went to the bookcase, and 
was soon lost in a story. 

It was such a delightful story that it gave her no 
tirfie for reflections of any kind. Papa’s talk, all her 
own little troubles, past and future, were forgotten. 
Linda knew nothing, could think of nothing, but the 
history of the family in her book. She was so happy 
that she did not stop one moment, after her usual fash- 
ion, to consider how happy she was. A book must be 
very interesting which could quite absorb Linda’s re- 
flective mind. 

But by-and-by something did interrupt her. It 
was a cry, low, long, and piercing, one of those fretful, 
monotonous cries that will make themselves heard. 
Linda knew it only too well. There was a very cross 
baby in her mother’s room, and a very tired mother, 
too, she had no doubt. She put her fingers in her ears 
to shut out the baby’s cry, but she could not so easily 
shut out of her mind all thought of her mother. And 
when she moved her hands to turn over the leaves she 
could distinctly hear another voice trying to hush the 
baby’s. 

So cross and obstinate was one voice, so patient 
and tired the other, that Linda’s emotions were divided 
between anger and pity. She was as provoked with 
the baby as she was sorry for her mother. 

Her first impulse was to put away the book and 
run to mamma’s rescue. But then it was her holiday ; 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


85 


and mamma had said that she was to do exactly as she 
liked all the afternoon. It was very seldom that she 
had an opportunity to read without interruption, and 
this was such a lovely story. She knew mamma would 
rather have her take no notice of the baby’s cry. 
Mamma thought she was enjoying her holiday, and it 
would trouble her to know that she was worrying about 
baby. Besides, it was no new thing to have him cross. 
Mamma was accustomed to it, and perhaps did not 
mind so very much. She would not let her know that 
anything had troubled her this afternoon, but would 
run up stairs out of the way of cares and worries where 
she could hear neither cross nor tired voices. 

But the voices followed her to the second floor, and 
into the guest-room, which was farther away from 
mamma’s room than any other in the house. Then 
Linda remembered a low window in the garret that 
had the afternoon sun, and went higher up above the 
cares and worries. She was soon curled in a com- 
fortable heap on the garret floor, with her head against 
the little window and the sunshine pouring over her. 
Such bright sunshine not only warmed her body, but 
always made her heart feel gay and glad. What a 
quiet, cheerful place to read in, and such a beautiful 
story-book as she had ! Now she would find out how 
they came through their troubles. 

The poor little girl in the story had her troubles, as 
well as the little girl out of it. But they were sadder 


86 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


troubles than any Linda had ever known, for she her- 
self was a cripple, and her baby brother was ill of a 
fever. Would he get well ? Linda wondered. Her 
heart ached as she read the description of his suffer- 
ings, and she could hardly wait to find out whether he 
lived or died. She would have known all about it by 
this time if the baby’s crying had not interrupted her 
reading and sent her on such a long upward journey. 

But she was far beyond the sound of her little broth- 
er’s voice now. There was nothing to interrupt her, 
and she could give all her attention to the other little 
girl’s brother. At least she thought she could. She 
knew no reason why she should not spend the rest of 
her holiday afternoon according to her heart’s desire, 
in solitude and quiet, among the noiseless and charm- 
ing companions to be found in the pages of a book. . 

But how was it that she was not having a good 
time — that she did not seem to be one of those peo- 
ple as she had been down stairs in the library ? She 
could not join the charmed circle again. The spell was 
broken, and her thoughts were wandering from their 
words and deeds to the doings of the busy, noisy peo- 
ple down stairs. 

She could not hear their noise, to be sure. The 
garret-door shut out the cross voice and the tired 
voice. And yet she .did hear them — not with her ears ; 
but the weary tones trying to hush the shrill, fretful cry 
seemed to be in her heart, for they had followed her 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 87 

even to this quiet, remote spot, and were begging her 
to come down. , 

Linda knew that if she should go and take the baby 
out of her mother’s arms, she could rock and sing him 
to sleep in a little while. Many a time, when her moth- 
er was so tired that the baby seemed to catch her wea- 
riness, and only grew nervous and wide-awake the lon- 
ger she rocked him, Linda had come . in fresh from a 
walk or from play, and quieted him at once. So mam- 
ma sometimes took him out of her tired arms and 
hushed him in a minute after she had failed for half an 
hour. It was her turn to-day. She was sure he had 
not gone to sleep, and that if she opened the garret- 
door she would hear his cries. . . 

But she did not open it at once. She watched the 
sunshine playing on the leaves of her book, and tried 
to become interested again in the words it was illumi- 
nating. But she was as much interested in the sun- 
beams’ antics as in the story, and more interested in 
her thoughts than in either. She cared more about 
her own little brother than the one in the story, and 
only glanced over a few pages to see whether he lived 
or died, before she jumped up and ran down stairs. 
She was very glad to have learned that he recov- 
ered from his fever, but after that did not give him a 
thought as she ran down stairs and across halls and 
into her mamma’s room. 

Mamma was walking with the baby, and her cheeks 


88 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


were flushed and her eyes looked so tired that Linda 
almost leaped across the room to her. 

“ No, dear,” said mamma, as she put up her arms for 
him. “ Go back to your book.” 

Linda answered by taking the baby and running 
over to a low rocking-chair. 

“Now, mamma, run right out,” she said. “You 
know I never can get him to sleep when there is any- 
body in the room.” 

“ But I would rather take him,” said mamma. “ I 
want you to have a good holiday.” 

“ Hush !” said Linda, putting up her finger. Then 
she pointed at the baby’s head, which he was hiding 
under her arm, after refusing so long to go under 
mamma’s arm. 

In a moment Linda had the room to herself. Noth- 
ing was visible but the silky back hair of the baby’s 
head, and out from under her arm came no cries, but 
only half-smothered demands for the songs he wanted. 
She was rather surprised that his first demand was for 
a real lullaby; but then the poor little fellow had been 
crying a long time and was very tired. In answer to 
his call for “ Lily-bells,” Linda sang, in quiet, soothing 
tones, 

“ ‘ Come, white angels, to baby and me ; 

Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep ; 

In his surprise he will cease to weep : 

Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee ! 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


89 


“ ‘ Come, white doves, to baby and me ; 

Softly whirr in the silent air. 

Flutter about his golden hair: 

Hark, child, the doves are coming to thee ! 

“ ‘ Come, white lilies, to baby and me, 

Drowsily nod before his eyes. 

So full of wonder, so round and wise : 

Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee ! 

‘‘ ‘ Come, white moon, to baby and me. 

Gently glide o’er the ocean of sleep. 

Silver the waves of its shadowy deep : 

Sleep, child; the whitest of dreams to thee!”’ 

He had been gradually getting so much quieter, 
and was breathing so softly when Linda sang the last 
line, that she thought sleep and a white little dream had 
already come to him ; but as his face was hidden she 
could not tell whether his eyes were closed or not. She 
had a way, however, of discovering whether he was 
asleep or awake. There was one little song against 
which he would call out loudly if he were not asleep. 
Linda sang, 

“ ‘ See, see, my baby sleeps I 

Soft, soft, the household creeps ! 

If a mouse but move her foot, 

In the trap she shall be put 1 
Pussy-cat, on tiptoe go ; 

Little fly, please buzz more low!’ ” 

The head nestled indignantly under Linda’s arm. 
It did make the baby so provoked to have people think 
he was asleep when he was awake. 


12 


90 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ No, no, baby s’eep !” he said. “ No, no, kitty ! 
No, no, itty f’y !” He considered a moment and de- 
manded “ Doggie.” So Linda sang, 

“‘Two handsome dogs. 

They met one day — 

T was Doggie Brown 
And Doggie Gray. 

“ ‘ Both wore ribbons • 

Around their necks — 

One pink, with stripes ; 

One blue, with specks. 

“ < “Well, who are you ?” 

Said Doggie Gray. 

“ I ’m the dog 
Of Rosy May.” 

“‘“I ’m Daisy Dean’s,” 

Said Doggie Brown, 

“ The loveliest lady 
In the town.” 

“ ‘ “ Oh, bow-wow, no !” 

Said Doggie Gray. 

Barked Doggie Brown, 

“ She is, I say.” 

‘And Doggie Brown 
Bit Doggie Gray ; 

And then both growled 
And ran away.’ ” 

The baby had giggled a little at the beginning, but 
was so very still at the end that Linda felt sure he must 
be asleep. She once more gave the mouse a warning. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


91 


charged the pussy-cat to go on tiptoe and the fly to 
buzz low, and as baby did not speak she knew he was 
really beyond the sound of her words, safe in dream- 
land at last She laid him down, covered him, and 
crept out of the room, to return to the other little girl’s 
brother in her story-book. 

But Tommy and Polly peeped at her so wistfully 
from the dining-room door that she thought she would 
go in and see what they were about; and although 
mamma had told them not to ask her to come and 
play, their faces were so full of invitations that Linda 
preferred accepting to returning to her book; so the 
story had to wait for her again. 


92 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER X. 

It was five o’clock before she had played long 
enough with Polly and Tommy to satisfy them. They 
were willing to release her then, and she returned to 
the window-seat in the library to make the most of 
the departing daylight. 

But she had not read a chapter when the front-door 
slammed and a quick tread could be heard in the hall. 
Three pairs of little feet, racing from three different 
parts of the house, were next heard; then there was a 
chorus of laughter, there was a great clatter of words, 
and of course papa had come. Linda heard a shout 
and a thump from Tommy, and knew he had been 
jumped to the ceiling and landed on his feet. Then 
she heard, first a frightened squeal, afterwards a tri- 
umphant one, from baby, and knew he had come safely 
through a somerset over papa’s shoulder. 

She did not run as usual to meet him, for she had 
only just got settled with her book after so many inter- 
ruptions. She heard him ask, “ Where ’s Linda ?” and 
her mother answering that Linda was trying to read a 
little while; then the voices and footsteps moved on, 
and she was left undisturbed once more. 

But by-and-by she heard the quick, heavy tread 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


93 

going from room to room, until at last it reached the 
library. 

“ What ’s lost, papa ?” said Linda. 

“ My screw-driver,” said papa. “ I came up an 
hour earlier than usual to put up the cornices in the 
dining-room, and suppose I shall spend the hour hunt- 
ing for tools.” ■ 

“ I ’ll find them for you in less time than that,” said 
Linda. 

“I thought you were not to be disturbed, little 
woman.” 

Linda laughed as she ran out of the door. 

“What would I do for screw-drivers without my 
little girl ?” said papa, when she came back with it in a 
moment. 

“ Now what else is gone ?” said Linda. 

“ The tack-hammer, I suppose. It always is.” 

But Linda found it in its own place, and although 
the rest of the tools were where they ought to be, she 
did not go back to her book, for she knew that papa 
liked to have some one to hand him things when he 
was standing on a chair hammering near the ceiling. 
So she took her place beside his chair and gave him 
the tools he wanted, and held those he was not using, 
and also entertained him while she helped him. 

“ What shall I do without my little woman ?” said 
papa, breaking suddenly into the midst of Linda’s con- 
versation. 


94 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


If he had said should instead of shall^ and if he had 
not emphasized the word so strongly, Linda would 
hardly have noticed the question. She was telling 
papa what wonderful things a microscope would do — 
how she had heard that a piece of moss became a 
forest under it, and revealed the most beautiful foli- 
age. But there was something in his words that 
made her forget to finish the description and ask him 
eagerly, 

“ Are you going to do without me, papa ? Am I 
going away anywhere ? or are you ?” 

“ How would you like to go away where you could 
have a microscope that would show you the little trees 
in the moss?” said papa. “You could do without 
me very well if you had a microscope, couldn’t you?” 

“ I would rather stay with you and have it,” said 
Linda. 

“But we cannot have everything in this world, 
Linda,” said papa. “ Gaining one thing is losing 
another generally. If we succeed in getting some- 
thing we want very much, we may be pretty sure of 
going without something else for it.” 

Linda looked so very grave that papa was sorry 
he had made her so, and began to whistle cheerfully, 
and presently told her a funny story about something 
he had seen that morning. 

“What wages do you ask?” said he, when the work 
was all done. 


OUT OF THE- FOLD. 


95 


“ Oh, do n’t throw me over your shoulder, papa,” 
squealed Linda. 

“You ’re as nervous as an old woman,” said papa. 
“You do need change of air.” 

“ Papa, what do you mean ?” said Linda. 

“ What wages do you ask ?” said papa. 

“ I ask you to tell me what you mean about my 
going away.” 

“Not just yet,” said papa; for the truth was he 
had not the courage to tell her and was leaving the 
task for mamma. “ Choose again. Will you have 
five cents for candy, or shall I give you the next fifteen 
minutes to do just what you please in ?” Papa had taken 
out his watch. “ There are fifteen minutes before sup- 
per. You may go up stairs and write a poem, or have 
a game of Tiger with Polly and Tommy and me.” 

“ I do n’t want to write a poem,” muttered Linda. 
“ I do n’t want five cents either.” 

“ Does that mean that you want to play Tiger ?” 

For answer Linda ran to call the children. Polly 
was easily found; the baby was amusing himself in 
mamma’s room, having waked very good-natured 
from his nap, and she had only to pick him up and 
carry him to the dining-room. But Tommy was not 
up stairs nor down stairs. Where could he be ? 

“ Oh, he ’s run away, of course,” said Linda, with 
the weary, hopeless feeling that a mother burdened 
with many responsibilities often has toward the close 


96 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


of the day. It seemed too much that Tommy should 
have chosen this time for disappearing. He had not 
run away for more than a week, and they were just 
beginning to hope that he had reformed; and it was 
so long since papa had had time for a romp with them. 
There were only those fifteen minutes before supper, 
and by the time she found Tommy it would probably 
be too late for “ Tiger and besides if there were any 
time left very likely papa would spend it in punishing 
Tommy, as he had threatened to give him a whipping 
the next time he ran away. The old discouraged feel- 
ing, which the pleasures of the afternoon had banished 
for a time, returned in full force, and Linda was in just 
the mood to inquire “ Why cannot people have what 
they crave ?” when she took her hat and went towards 
the front door. 

“Where are you going?” called papa. “We’re 
all waiting for you. You look as black as a thunder- 
cloud.” 

“ Hurry up!” screamed Tommy from behind papa. 

“ Oh — I thought — •” said Linda. 

“ Did you think I ’d run away ? Are you going 
to find me ?” said Tommy. 

Then there was a shout of laughter. But papa 
came and led her to the dining-room and soon laughed 
the doleful look from her face. Linda could not help 
feeling ashamed that it took so little to make her heart 
sink to the lowest depths, and reflected on her tenden- 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


97 


cy to become easily discouraged, and was sorry that 
she should have been so very gloomy for so little 
cause, after the happy afternoon she had just spent. 

But papa did not intend that she should be gloomy 
any more; and was soon pursuing her so wildly that 
she had no time to do anything but save herself from 
the terrible fate of being torn to pieces by a ferocious 
tiger. 

Mamma could not understand the charms of this 
favorite game of the children’s. But to them it was 
delightful. It had all the fascinations of real danger 
from which they could only escape by the closest 
attention and greatest energy and cunning, while back 
of the thrilling terror lay a comfortable assurance that 
after all it was only papa ; that if worst should come to 
worst it would be fun still ; that if they should fall into 
the big tiger’s clutches his grip would not be too tight, 
nor his bites too savage. 

So they ran in and out of the china closet, around 
and around the chairs, around and under and over the 
table ; they hid behind the curtains, or in the little 
corner between the sideboard and the wall ; and never 
knew when they were safe, which of them papa was 
going to chase next, when he was suddenly going to 
leave one and pursue another. 

But he was pretty sure to leave the one who was 
most tired and frightened to go to the one who was 
least so, if they had only happened to notice that 
13 


98 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


habit of his ; and he never caught one of them until 
he judged from their faces that they were ready to be 
gobbled up, or else carried off to his den. 

The den was a little cupboard, and after the tiger 
got a victim in there he guarded the door well, so of 
course it was great fun to succeed in escaping and be 
roared at and chased by the enraged animal. 

Linda had just escaped and papa was after her with 
a tremendous growl, when mamma put her head in the 
dining-room. 

“ Do keep still, Fred,” she said. “ You make more 
noise than all the rest of them. Mrs. Merriman is 
coming.” 

The door-bell rang at that moment, and the game 
was over. 

“ I will finish it some other time,” said papa. 

But it was a long, long time before Linda played 
Tiger again. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


99 


CHAPTER XI. 

Mrs. Merriman was the dressmaker, and as she 
went out Linda heard her say, 

“ Well, I ’m glad I could beg off from Miss Jackson 
for you, Mrs. Barto, I always like to accommodate my 
customers, and I know you ’re in a great hurry for the 
little dress. Mrs. Jackson said she ’d make a day next 
week do for her. I ’ll be around bright and early 
to-morrow morning.” 

“ Is Mrs. Merriman coming ?” said Linda. “ Who 
is going to have a new dress ?” 

“ I ’ll tell you this evening,” said mamma. 

It seemed as if they never would have an oppor- 
tunity to talk. The baby had slept so long in the 
afternoon under Linda’s soothing influence that he 
wanted to play all the evening. Polly and Tommy 
were both so excited from the game of Tiger that they 
did not fall asleep as soon as they were tucked in and 
kissed good-night, but lay awake wishing for all sorts 
of things and demanding them of their mother and 
sister. 

“I want you to put me to bed to-night, Linda,” 
was Polly’s first demand. 

“ And I want you to tell me a good, rousing story,” 
said Tommy. 


100 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ Well run up and get undressed, dear, and I ’ll be 
there in a few minutes,” said Linda to Polly; “ and I ’ll 
try and think of a Story, Tommy.” 

“Will you take it in rhyme, or in plain prose, 
Tom ?” said papa. 

“ Do n’t tease her to-night,” said mamma. 

“ She shall not be teased again,” said papa, with a 
loving pat on the head, that restored Linda’s compo- 
sure. 

“ Lin-da ! Lin-da !” called Polly. 

“ Yes, Polly, I ’m coming,” said Linda, trying to 
disentangle her hair from the baby’s clutches. 

“ Lin-da ! Lin-da ! Lin-da !” continued the voice at 
the top of the stairs, the tones rising in shrillness till 
papa bade her keep still and wait quietly for Linda, or 
she should not come at all. 

Linda rose flushed and frowning from the floor, 
while the baby waved a long lock of her hair trium- 
phantly in the air. He loved his big sister dearly, of 
course, but considered it his especial privilege to pull 
her hair, bite, pinch, and beat her. 

“That baby’s getting too old to be such a savage,” 
said papa. “ He knows better, Linda. You ought to 
slap his hands when he abuses you in that way.” 

The indignant frown left Linda’s face in a moment 
at such a dreadful suggestion, and she stooped down 
and kissed tenderly the little fingers that held her hair. 

“ He ’s such a baby, papa dear,” said Linda. “ He 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


lOI 


does n’t mean anything but play. I know he would n’t 
mean to hurt me for the world. Would you, darling?” 

“ No-o ! no-o ! no-o ]” said the baby gently. 

But even then, in the very act of reconciliation, he 
could not resist showing his power over the big sister. 
Out came two little row's of white teeth, and a bite 
would have followed the kiss immediately if Linda had 
not been rather expecting it and jumped in time. 

“ Papa,” called Polly, in low, respectful tones, “can’t 
Linda please come now ?” 

“ I ’ll go,” said Linda. 

The little white figure was not waiting for her at 
the head of the stairs, neither was it in bed, nor any- 
where in their room. 

Linda wondered where Polly could have vanished 
so suddenly, and went out into the hall to look for her. 

“ Is that you, Polly ?” she said, seeing something 
white against the window at the end of the hall. 

“ Hush !” said Polly, lifting her hand warningly. 

“ What are you doing ?” 

“ Listening. Hush !” said Polly. 

Linda went down the hull to her and saw that she 
had her ear close to a window-pane. 

“ I ’m trying to hear the music,” said Polly. “ Oh, 
would n’t it be lovely if I could hear it the way that 
man with the long name did ?” 

“The music?” said Linda. “Oh, you mean the 
music of the spheres.” 


102 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ Whisper low,” said Polly. “ Tommy’s door is 
open, and he does n’t believe it, you know. He ’d only 
make fun of us.” 

“ Do you believe it, Polly ?” said Linda earnestly. 
She longed to think that it was true herself, and would 
have been rather glad if sensible little Polly, whom no- 
body ever called dreamy and fanciful, had taken the 
same view of the matter that she was inclined to take. 
“ I didn’t even know that you heard what I told Tom- 
my about Pythagoras.” 

“ That was when I had to study so hard to get jny 
apple, you know,” said Polly, “and I didn’t dare let 
you know I was listening; but I thought it was per- 
fectly lovely.” 

“And do you believe it?” 

“Well,” said practical Polly, “I haven’t heard it 
yet, but maybe I will some night.” 

“ There ’s a verse in the Bible,” said Linda, “ about 
the morning-stars singing together. Mamma says that 
the learned men think that morning-stars is a name for 
the angels ; but I do n’t see why it did n’t say angels, if 
that ’s what it meant.” 

“ Do you think it really means stars ?” said Polly. 

“ Perhaps it does,” said Linda. “ I ’d like to ask 
Pythagoras all about it, would n’t you ?” 

“Yes,” said Polly. “I wonder if he was standing 
at the window with his ear close to it, the way I am, 
when he heard.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


103 


“ Perhaps he could n’t get to sleep that night, and 
was lying wide awake in the dark.” 

“ Or perhaps it woke him right up and made him 
jump out of bed, it was so loud and lovely,” said 
Polly. 

“ Or perhaps,” said Linda, “ he was sitting alone on 
the piazza, long after everybody else had gone to bed ; 
and perhaps there were vines all over the piazza and 
great big trees on the lawn — ” 

“ And little birdies asleep in the treeses,” squealed a 
voice from Tomijiy’s room, “with their little headies 
tucked under their wingies.” 

“ And perhaps,” said Linda, not condescending to 
notice the interruption, though it was difficult to con- 
tinue, “ it was moonlight.” 

“ Bright moonshine,” said Tommy. “ All moon- 
shine.” 

“ Or perhaps,” said Polly, in a loud, crushing tone, 
intended to silence him — 

“ Perhaps he dreamed it,” screamed Tommy. “ Per- 
haps he had a nightmare.” 

“ There is no use trying to talk out here,” said 
Linda. “ Let ’s go in our room.” 

“Where’s that story you promised to tell me?” 
said Tommy. “ I can’t wait much longer.” 

“ You ’ll have to wait,” said Polly, drawing Linda 
in and closing the door behind them. 

“ Tommy does n’t care for an education,” said Lin- 


104 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


da. “ I do n’t believe he ’d care if he never knew any- 
thing. I get so discouraged trying to teach him. But 
sometimes you seem to like to learn, Polly. Some- 
times you seem to want to know about things just as 
much as I do.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Polly proudly, “ I s’pose that is the 
difference of girls and boys.” 

“ I feel encouraged to-night,” said Linda, ‘‘to think 
that somebody remembers something I said in school.” 

Then she indulged in a few reflections on the truth 
that everything turns out right in the end. “ Only it 
would have been better if Polly had listened to her 
teacher in school,” thought she. 

“You ought to learn in school, Polly,” she said. 
“ That is the best time to study and ask questions, and 
pay attention to what is said and remember it. But 
I ’m glad you want to learn at all, and I ’ll tell you any- 
thing you want to know.” 

“ You can tell me something about how the stars go 
round the other stars, then,” said Polly kindly. 

They had a long lesson in astronomy before they 
heard a voice calling loudly and endeavoring to be 
heard through the closed door. 

“ Polly must go to bed,” called mamma, as Linda 
opened the door. “ It is getting late for her to be up, 
and you and I have something to talk over to-night, 
Linda.” 

Polly was like a baby six months old when her bed- 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


105 


time came. Linda had petted and tended her at night 
until she was not ashamed to demand any attention 
from her little mother that the baby himself might de- 
mand. Linda had even been known to hold her in her 
arms and rock her to sleep when she did not feel quite 
well. 

But to-night Polly gave her hands to Linda and let 
her jump her into bed, after having knelt at her knee 
to say her prayers. Linda was tucking the clothes 
about her neck, preparatory to kissing her good-night, 
when she said, 

“ O Linda, you have n’t half put me to bed.” 

“ What do you want, dear ?” 

“ You never rubbed my back,” said Polly. “ Mam- 
ma says little spines ought to be rubbed every night, 
so ’s to make ’em strong when they grow big.” 

“ I forgot it,” said Linda meekly. “ You know I 
generally do it, Polly.” 

“ Mamma always does,” said Polly. 

By this time Linda was rubbing vigorously. 

“ That ’s enough,” said Polly ; and Linda prepared 
to tuck her in once more. 

“ Why do n’t you feel my feet ?” complained Polly ; 
“ and if they ’re cold, you must rub ’em till the circ, la- 
tion gets hot. When that ’s cold it ’s dangerous, I can 
tell you, Linda. It might kill you.” 

“ What is circulation?” said Linda, as she made the 
discovery that the two bare feet, which had been stand- 

14 


io6 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


ing at windows and pattering about halls, were any- 
thing but warm. 

“ Oh, something in your toes — or heels, I do n’t 
know which,” said Polly. “ But you better keep it 
warm if you do n’t want to drop dead. Rub harder.” 

“ I ’ll have to give you a lesson in physiology, 
instead of astronomy, the next time,” said Linda. 
“There, now, they are as warm as toast, and I’ve 
nearly rubbed my arms off. Oh, how they ache !” 

“Aren’t you going to wrap them up in flannel?” 
said Polly. “You must wrap them all up snug and 
warm, and get the flannel hot by the kitchen stove.” 

“It would get cold while I was bringing it up, 
dear,” said Linda, “ and I ’m so tired. Wont it do if I 
do n’t warm the flannel this once ?” 

“Well,” said Polly, in rather an injured tone, “I 
s’pose so.” 

At last the feet were warm and snug in two thick- 
nesses of flannel, and again Linda prepared to tuck 
Polly in. 

“ Are n’t you going to feel my hands, I ’d like to 
know ?” said Polly. “ S’pose I should have a fever ? 
You should always feel a little girl’s hands when you 
put her to bed. It ’s very safe to do so. Here they 
are. Now if they ’re hot, you scream out, ‘ Why, Polly 
Barto, you’ve got a dreadful fever!’ and run down 
stairs just as fast as you can go and get me some pills 
out of the medicine closet.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


107 


*‘Why, Polly Barto,” said Linda, “You haven’t 
any fever at all. Your hands are as cool and moist as 
they can be. So good-night. I can’t put you to bed 
any longer. I hear mamma calling me every little 
while.” 

“ Good-night,” said Polly reluctantly. “ I s’pose 
mamma ’s got to have you all the time.” 

“ Linda ! Linda ! O Lin-da !” she called, as she 
reached the head of the stairs without answering her. 

“ I can’t come again, Polly.” 

Though the tones were very firm, Polly pleaded, 

“Just a minute. I promise to let you go in only a 
minute.” 

“ Well, what is it ?” said Linda, from the doorway. 

“ Linda, is n’t it funny that the way you can tell lit- 
tle girls are sick is when their hands are hot, and the 
way you can tell dogs are sick is when their noses get 
hot?” 

“ Very funny,” said Linda. 

“Cool hands seem to be the best things for little 
girls, and cold noses for dogs; don’t they, Linda?” 

“Oh, decidedly,” replied a voice from Tommy’s 
room. “ It is about time for my story, I should think. 
How long do you s’pose I can wait for stories ?” 

“ You fell asleep. Tommy,” said Linda. “ I ’m sure 
you must have been asleep, for I got to the head of the 
stairs without your calling me.” 

“Perhaps I did drop off a minute,” said Tommy. 


io8 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ But no one could sleep through all that screaming of 
Polly’s. Let ’s have the story.” 

“ There was once a little boy,” began Linda. 

“ Who ran away whenever he got a chance,” said 
Tommy, “and made his big sister lots of trouble cha- 
sing after him, till one day the cars ran over him and 
killed him ; so do n’t run away, little boys, or the cars ’ll 
smash you one of these days ! That ’s what you were 
going to say. I could tell from the way your voice 
sounded.” 

“But I wasn’t,” said Linda. “I was going to tell 
you what happened to a boy who teased his little 
sister.” 

“ I do n’t care what happened to him. I wont lis- 
ten,” said Tommy. “ Tell me something funny.” 

“You would always rather be amused than in- 
structed,” said Linda. 

“ I should think I got instruction enough in school,” 
said Tommy. 

Linda was going to draw some comparisons between 
Tommy and Polly, and tell him that if he would only 
heed the instructions he received during school hours, 
perhaps she would not try to teach him at other times ; 
but before she could say the words she felt sorry that 
she had even meant to say them. There was not 
much use in trying to instruct him, she often thought, 
and she might as well have a comfortable time amusing 
him. So she asked what the story should be about. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


109 


“ A panther breaking loose from a*menagerie,” said 
Tommy. “ Tell me how awfully he scared the people, 
and what a lot of ’em he ate.” 

The story was not to Linda’s taste ; but she made 
it as fierce as possible to please her listener, and spared 
neither men, women, children, nor little babies when 
Tommy demanded one of them for the panther’s jaws. 

“ That ’s splendid !” said he, when she finished. 
“ But I feel awfully wide-awake yet. Can’t you give us 
another ?” 

“ No, not to-night,” said Linda resolutely. 

She kissed him quickly, and ran down stairs as fast 
as possible, though a feeble “ Linda !” from Polly tried 
to stop her. 


no 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Here you are at last, little mother,” said mamma. 
“Are all your babies sound asleep ?” 

“No,” said Linda; “this is one of their restless 
nights. It seems as if I never could get away from 
them.” 

“ Baby Freddie is restless, too,” said mamma. “ I 
have rocked him to sleep three times.” 

She looked very bright and happy this evening, 
although she had been looking rather sad and as if 
something were on her mind, during the afternoon. 

“ I heard the door slam,” said Linda. 

“ Yes, papa has gone to the office,” mamma said. 
“ He came up early, and had to go down again. You 
ought to go away too, Linda. It is time those heavy 
eyes were asleep ; but I told you I wanted to tell you 
something before you went to bed.” 

“ Yes, mamma, and I ’m so anxious to hear it. Am 
I going away for a visit ? Papa kept talking about my 
going somewhere; but I didn’t think it could really 
be true.” 

“ It really is,” said mamma. “ I do n’t wonder that 
you could hardly believe you were to have a vacation ; 
but you need it and deserve it, dear. So we have ac- 
cepted one of Aunt Belinda’s invitations at last.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


Ill 


“ Was that what her letter was about ? But it 
made you cry, mamma. I knew you had been cry- 
ing when you came out of the bedroom after you 
read it.” 

Mamma smiled so brightly that one could hardly 
fancy her with tears in her eyes ; for she was quite de- 
termined that Linda should not know nor feel any of 
the pain that she felt at the thought of losing her little 
daughter for a while. She wanted the whole experi- 
ence — the anticipation, the visit itself, and the recollec- 
tions of it — to be a sunny experience for Linda from 
beginning to end. 

“What a silly mother,” she said, laughing, “to cry 
over good news.” 

“ How long am I going to stay ?” said Linda. 
“ And when am I going, mamma ?” 

“You are going in a few days,” said mamma — 
“next Tuesday; and you must not ask how long you 
are going to stay, for nobody knows — perhaps for 
ever.” 

The words “for ever” did not sound so long and 
dreary to Linda’s ears as they might if mamma had not 
spoken them very cheerfully. Still she did not quite 
like it, and said with some dismay, 

“You are not going to give me away?” 

“Aunt Belinda would like that precious gift very 
much,” said mamma ; “ but we have refused it a great 
many times, and are not quite generous enough to 


II2 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


promise yet that she may have you for her own little 
girl. But you are to stay as long as you are happy, 
Linda; and you will have everything that you want 
most to make you happy. You are going to a de- 
lightful school, and Aunt Belinda has a piano, so that 
you can take lessons and learn to play the beautiful 
music that you say you sometimes dream about. Per- 
haps she has a microscope. I know that she has a 
great many books, and that when you are out of school 
you will have nothing to do but amuse yourself You 
can read, and dream and write your little poems, and 
there will be no babies to disturb you. Your only care 
will be your lessons, and you will have no work but 
studying, which you like better than play. Is not that 
a delightful prospect, Linda? Can you believe that 
such a good time is coming ?” 

“ It is all that I can do to believe it,” said Linda, 
with a very bewildered look in her eyes. “ It seems 
more like a dream than any dream I ever had.” 

“But you will find in a few days that it is very 
sober truth,” said mamma. “ Next week, Tuesday, 
when you are sitting with Aunt Belinda by the open 
fire in the little parlor where she rocks and knits every 
evening, perhaps the home-life which you have left be- 
hind you, with all its cares and worries, will begin to 
seem like a dream.” 

For some reason those old, familiar cares and wor- 
ries seemed rather dear to Linda at that moment, and 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


113 

the vision of Aunt Belinda knitting and rocking by the 
open fire chilled her heart. 

“ I wish you were going to be there,” she said; and 
the picture changed in a moment. She knew she 
should never feel lonely sitting by Aunt Belinda’s side 
if mamma were on the other side of her, and she could 
steal her hand into hers for warmth and company at 
any moment. 

“I couldn’t leave my babies here to follow my one 
little lamb out of the fold,” said mamma. 

“ Then I wish — ” she began, when a voice from far- 
away called, 

“ Linda ! Linda !” 

“ Go to sleep, Polly,” said Linda. 

“ I ’m choking,” she said. “ I ’m nearly thirsted to 
death. You might get me some water.” 

“ Bring another glass for me,” called Tommy. 

“O dear! I thought they were asleep long ago,” 
said Linda. 

But she was very glad to go for the water to-night, 
and thought nothing of weary feet. She only thought 
of the nights coming so soon, when she would be too 
far away to answer their calls. 

She kissed Polly very tenderly after giving her the 
water, and Tommy also, though she knew he dis- 
liked it. 

“ I wish,” she said, when she was once more sitting 
by mamma’s side, “ that you were all going.” 

15 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


114 

Mamma laughed, and asked her where she thought 
Aunt Belinda could stow away a whole family. 

“ Then I wish — ” 

“ But you must n’t wish for anything, dear,” said 
mamma. “ Do n’t begin to think about the things you 
cannot have when you are going to have so much, and 
just what you have always wanted most. When a lit- 
tle girl receives a great deal she ought to be willing to 
lose a little.” 

“ Papa said something like that this afternoon,” 
said Linda, “that you could n’t get one thing without 
losing another.” 

“ So the only way is to be thankful for the gains, 
and not think about the losses,” said mamma. “ And 
I hope you will not miss us very much, dear. It is 
such a good opportunity for you to receive an educa- 
tion that I want you to improve it thoroughly. And I 
am afraid you will lose some of the advantages that 
Aunt Belinda offers you if you are homesick and un- 
happy. So try not to miss us too much; and enjoy 
the studying and reading and music as much as you 
possibly can.” 

“ I was only going to say,” said Linda, “ that I 
wished auntie had let me go to school here.” 

“You would have too many cares on your mind if 
you stayed at home, Linda. You could never get 
away from them. It would be as it was this afternoon. 
Although I gave you a holiday, you could not escape 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


115 

the cares. You went up and up till you reached the 
top of the house, and they followed you all the way. 
You will have to go farther off than that to get beyond 
their reach.” 

“ Linda !” called a loud, peremptory voice. “ Where 
is that lump of sugar you promised me, Linda 
Barto?” 

“What lump. Tommy?” said Linda. 

“ You know you promised me a lump if I ’d say 
over the fours and fives while I was undressing.” 

“ That was last night,” said Linda. 

“ Why didn’t you give it to me last night then?” 

“ Because you forgot to ask me for it.” 

“Tommy,” called mamma, “go to sleep directly. 
You have waited so long for the sugar that you can 
wait a little longer. Linda will give it to you in the 
morning.” 

“ Oh, please let me give it to him to-night, mamma,” 
said Linda, “ because I am going away.” 

“ Well, Tommy,” said mamma, “ I will let Linda 
go up once more; and then neither you nor Polly 
must speak another word.” 

“ I ’m awfully thirsty,” squealed Polly. “ Can’t 
Linda bring me some water ?” 

“ No, Polly, you have had water enough. Go to 
sleep directly.” 

“ Good-night, Tommy dear,” said Linda tenderly, 
lingering after she had given him the sugar. 


ii6 OUT OF THE FOLD. 

“ All right,” said Tommy, “ but do n’t kiss me 
again.” 

“No, I wont.” 

“Well, Linda,” said mamma, “I think we must 
have peace for the rest of the evening. They cannot 
think of any more excuses for calling you away.” 

“ I was going to say that if we had a nurse for the 
children I could stay at home without their disturbing 
my studies. Auntie might pay for a nurse and let me 
go to school here.” 

“ Then she would have no little girl to sit with her 
in the lonely parlor,” said mamma. “She is anticipa- 
ting a great deal of pleasure from your company, and 
I hope you will be a very entertaining guest. Besides 
it is not proper to suggest how people shall do us 
favors. It is their privilege to do them in their own 
way and our place to accept them as they are offered. 
Aunt Belinda does not offer to give us a nurse and let 
you remain at home.” 

“ Oh, Linda !” came ringing down the stairs, “ Oh ! 
oh ! oh !” 

It was a scream of such real terror that both mam- 
ma and Linda ran. By the time they reached the foot 
of the stairs Polly was at the top of them, and close 
behind her stood Tommy inquiring what was the 
matter. 

“ Oh, my tooth, my tooth !” 

“Does it ache?” said Linda. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


117 


“ It ’s dropped out,” said Polly, “ and the bleed ’s 
running down my chin.” 

“That’s nothing at all, you silly thing,” said Tom- 
my. “Mine are always dropping out; and for every 
old one you get a bigger new one in its place.” 

“ Do you ?” said Polly. 

“Of course you do. What a row about a little 
tooth !” said Tommy, turning away from her in dis- 
gust, and going back to his room. 

“I was just taking hold of it, only very gently,” 
sobbed Polly, as Linda put her arms around her, “ and 
it tumbled right out in my hand, and I felt the bleed 
coming, and I was so scared! If it wasn’t for you, 
Linda, I ’d be scared now.” 

“ Who will comfort the little sister after next Tues- 
day ?” thought Linda, as she gave her a great squeeze 
and took her back to bed. She bathed her chin and 
hands, brought a glass of water for the afflicted mouth ; 
and once more went down to mamma. 

“Does papa want me to go?” she asked suddenly. 

Mamma seemed a little surprised by the question, 
but after a moment answered, 

“ Papa thinks that home is the best place for chil- 
dren, dear. He thinks you are getting an education 
slowly but surely here, and that there is another kind 
of education that children can only get in their own 
homes. Papa says that the little girl who is well off is 
the little girl with a contented disposition, wherever 


II8 . our OF THE FOLD. 

she may be, and he thinks you will find advantages 
and disadvantages everywhere. But he has given his 
consent to your going.” 

“And is n’t he willing to have me go ?” 

“Yes, he is quite willing that you should try the 
advantages and disadvantages in a new life; and 
has promised auntie that you may stay three months 
if you like it. Of course if you like it for three months 
you will like it for longer. That is why I said you 
might stay for ever.” 

Linda would certainly have been homesick already 
if there had not been something so very bright and 
cheering in mamma’s face and tones. 

“Now I know why it was a special occasion to- 
day,” said Linda, “and why papa let me stay in his 
office.” 

“Yes, He knew you would not be troubling him 
again very soon.” 

“We had a lovely talk,” said Linda. “I’m glad 
of it. Oh, what ’s that ?” 

The loud thump which they heard was followed so 
quickly by a cry that they knew it was baby this time. 

“ He can always fall out of bed when there is noth- 
ing else to do,” said mamma. “I thought we were 
safe from interruptions for the rest of the evening. 
Well, Linda, I wonder what will come next.” 

“Tommy will want more water in a minute,” said 
Linda, “ or perhaps Polly will pull out another tooth.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


19 


They had found the baby on the floor by this time, 
more angry than hurt ; but so very angry, that a great 
deal of coaxing and petting was required from his 
two mothers. 

“ Let me rock him to sleep, mamma,” said Linda. 
“I can’t do it many nights.” 

It was well for Linda that she did not know why 
mamma left the room so quickly. Tears gathered in 
her eyes at her little daughter’s words, and she hurried 
out into the hall where she could wipe them away 
unseen. 

“Darling, darling little Freddie,” whispered Linda 
to him over and over. “The sweetest baby in the 
whole wide world ! Sister’s precious little brother !” 

“ Sister’s pinky,” said he. 

“Yes, so he is.” 

“Sing Pinky.” 

“ ‘ Pinky, pinky, posy, pan, 

All the ladies in the Ian’ 

Love the pinky, posy, pan.’ 

she sang. 

Then before baby could ask for another she began 
to sing from the fulness of her own heart; and for a 
wonder he did not object, but seemed very well pleased 
with her selections, perhaps because they were all so 
flattering to him. She sang, 

“‘Little, brother, darling boy. 

You are very dear to me.’ ” 


20 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


She sang, 

“ ‘ He is my brother, 

There ’s ne’er such another 
In all the world round.’ ” 

Then she sang so sadly, “ What is home without a 
baby?” that he would certainly have objected to the 
dismal tones if he had not been too far on the road to 
dreamland. 

After trying “See, see, my baby sleeps,” and re- 
ceiving no angry contradiction from her little brother, 
Linda laid him down, and once more she was in the 
parlor with mamma. 

She looked so happy that Linda asked, 

“Are you glad I am going, mamma? Are you 
perfectly willing ?” 

“ I think it is the best thing for you, dear,” said 
mamma. “ And so I am glad.” 

“ But what will you do without me ? Who will 
teach the children, and who will help you all day ?” 

“ Mrs. Smith is coming whenever I want her,” said 
mamma, in a business-like tone. “ That is easily ar- 
ranged. You know we accomplish a good deal when 
she comes for a day.” 

“ The children do n’t like her,” said Linda. 

“I can take care of the children and let her do 
other things.” 

“But I don’t see—” 

“You needn’t see anything about it,” said mamma, 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


I2I 


laughing. “ I have everything planned, and we will 
do beautifully without you. It w'ould worry me very 
much to know that you were worrying about us ; and 
I want you to promise me that you wont think of 
home cares after you get away.” 

“ Perhaps I can’t help it.” 

“ Oh, but you must remember what it is for me to 
have a great, strong woman like Mrs. Smith in the 
place of a little woman like you.” 

“ I think you ’ll wish you had your little woman 
instead sometimes,” said Linda. 

“ Do n’t be so vain, ma’am,” said mamma, while she 
was thinking how she should always, always be wish- 
ing for her little woman. “ Now come up in my lap 
for a few minutes, and then you must go to bed, for 
Mrs. Merriman will want you early to-morrow morn- 
ing. She is going to make you a fine new dress to 
W’ear in the city.” 

“And I ’ve never seen it,” said Linda. 

“ No, I could not show it to you without telling you 
all the secret.” 

But Linda did not ask to see it now. She forgot 
the dress as soon as she was on mamma’s lap with her 
arms around her neck and her head on her shoulder. 
How could she care about dresses when such a sweet, 
rare opportunity for one of mamma’s precious talks 
was given her ? 

This talk was full of motherly counsel for the new 

i6 


22 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


life that was coming ; and although she hinted at pos- 
sible trials in that bright life, and told Linda how she 
must bear them, no tinge of sadness crept into the con- 
versation. It sent the little girl to bed with a happy 
heart, and prepared her wisely and bravely for what 
lay before her. 

Linda remembered and cherished that talk for 
many a day, as it was the last long one before her de- 
parture. The few days that followed were so full of 
sewing and the general bustle of preparation that she 
hardly had time to realize she was going when the 
hour came to bid them good-by. Mamma had planned 
it all. She did not wish the last day clouded with too 
many regrets and farewells, and so had given Linda 
opportunity for neither. 

Although the partings could be nothing but sad, 
yet Linda rode away towards the new life full of hope 
and courage; and on the cars she dreamed out her 
first letter home, which was a glowing description of a 
series of most delightful experiences. 

She was still dreaming the postscript when she 
heard the name of her station called, and in a moment 
the gentleman who had her in charge had put her off 
into Aunt Belinda’s arms. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


123 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ I HAVE got you at last,” said Aunt Belinda, when 
they were in the carriage, “ and I hope to keep you a 
long while. You have determined not to be homesick, 
have n’t you ?” 

“Yes, auntie,” said Linda, “mamma wants me to 
be very happy here ; and I think it will be lovely to 
go to school.” 

“ If you are not too tired, you may begin to-mor- 
row,” said auntie, “and you may take your first music- 
lesson as soon as you please.” 

“ To-day ?” said Linda eagerly. 

“ Well,” said auntie, laughing, “ there is not much 
of the day left, dear. So perhaps you had better wait 
till to-morrow for that too.” 

The little remnant of the day was soon gone, and 
auntie and Linda were sitting in the parlor by the open 
fire. Linda had been introduced to her new home, es- 
tablished in her pretty little bedroom, had tried the 
piano which stood in the library, and looked at the 
books in the low bookcases that seemed to have been 
made especially for a little girl of her height ; she and 
auntie had talked about the old life and the new ; they 
had dined; and now as evening came were sitting 
rocking in the firelight. 


124 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


Auntie had bought her a pretty, low rocking-chair 
like her own, and back and forth they both went, keep- 
ing time and saying nothing. For they seemed al- 
ready to have talked about everything that was of in- 
terest to both, so that nothing was left to say. It is 
always rather difficult for two naturally quiet people to 
keep up a conversation. Linda was more inclined to 
dream than talk at any time ; and auntie, from living 
alone so long, had formed a habit of silence ; besides, 
she was quite unused to children, and did not know 
what subjects interested them most. 

So there they sat rocking, and suddenly it occurred 
to Linda that it was very still. She made an effort and 
said something; auntie made an effort and answered 
her; then they were silent again. Presently auntie 
took her knitting, and after her eyes began to follow 
the stitches, she seemed to forget that there was a little 
girl in the room. 

Linda looked up at the clock. It was only seven. 
They had dined at half-past five, and it seemed as if 
she and auntie had spent a long evening together since 
dinner. But her bedtime was still an hour and a half 
away. How long that hour and a half seemed, which 
at home was so short that she seldom found an oppor- 
tunity for a little quiet reading after the toils of the 
day. It was the time when the children’s wants were 
most numerous and she was busiest. 

Who was putting the children to bed to-night? she 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


125 


wondered. Who would see if Polly’s feet were cold or 
her hands feverish ? Who would tell Tommy a story, 
and run to get them water ? Who would pick up the 
baby and comfort him and sing to him if he should 
fall out of bed to-night ? 

Poor mamma’s feet were too tired to run up and 
down stairs in the evening, and the baby liked his sis- 
ter’s songs better than any others. But there was no 
one except mamma to do it all, for Mrs. Smith’s days 
ended at six o’clock ; and even if she should stay, it 
was so absurd to think of her waiting upon the chil- 
dren that Linda laughed at the very idea. 

Mrs. Smith w^s a poor old woman without family 
or friends, who lived alone in one little room, and sup- 
ported herself, as she said, “by odd jobs.” She 
charged very little for a day’s labor, and would mend, 
darn stockings, wash dishes, cook, “ or do anything I 
can turn my hand to for fifty cents and my feeding,” 
said she. But she was not in demand, as she was not 
altogether an agreeable old woman to spend a day 
with. Mamma, however, had a gift of making her 
useful and keeping her in good temper, so she some- 
times came to help them. Linda had left her in mam- 
ma’s bedroom darning stockings when she came away, 
but she knew that she had gone back to her little room 
by this time, and that she would never be of much as- 
sistance with the children. Tommy quarrelled with 
her, Polly was saucy, and the only child in the family 


126 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


who had patience with Mrs. Smith was sitting far away 
at Aunt Belinda’s fireside. 

“ Papa has gone to the office,” thought Linda, “ or 
is reading in the corner. His feet are up high on the 
foot-rest— 'I wonder who got his slippers for him ; and 
he wont stir this evening. I can see mamma running 
up and down stairs, and then across the hall to the 
baby — I believe I shall see her that way every even- 
ing.” 

Then Linda suddenly remembered how mamma 
had warned her against worrying about the home- 
cares. So she tried to think that Mrs. Smith had 
given her so much help during the day that she was 
fresh for the evening duties. At any rate, she had 
promised mamma to try and be quite happy; and why 
should she not be at the very outset of a life in which 
she was to have all the desires of her heart gratified ? 

She had an attractive book in her lap, but all this 
time had been looking into the fire and seeing visions 
of home. Now she tried to busy herself in the story, 
but kept wondering, wondering about home. How- 
ever, there were other joys to beguile her thoughts 
from cafe. 

“ Auntie, may I play on the piano ?” she asked. 

“Yes, dear,” said auntie. “Do anything you 
please. The gas is lighted in the library. Are you 
tall enough to reach it? Or shall I go and turn it up?” 

“ I will climb on a chair,” said Linda. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


127 


She made the room as bright as possible, and sat 
down with her head full of music. It did not come out 
of her fingers by any rules, but it really sounded like a 
tune, auntie said ; and Linda enjoyed it quite as much 
as she used to think she would. The slow, soft melody 
that followed her light, gliding touch accorded so well 
with the melody in her mind that Linda felt all the rap- 
ture of a real musician who has won success. 

But the music made her dreamy, and she dreamed 
of swaying multitudes by the power of her touch or of 
her voice. How lovely it would be to sing ! Suppose 
some day she should play so wonderfully that people 
would come from far and near to hear her. She could 
see a great hall filled with eager listeners^ and they 
should be moved to tears and laughter by her melo- 
dies. 

She thought she would like very much to be a 
singer. She wondered if she had the necessary gift ; 
and auntie was rather startled to hear a small, shrill 
voice piping some operatic airs to the accompaniment 
of a crazy little tune which seemed to have no connec- 
tion with the song. 

But Linda fortunately did not notice the lack of 
harmony between song and accompaniment, and went 
on dreaming of the songs she should sing before admi- 
ring multitudes. 

The best part of it all would be papa’s and mam- 
ma’s pride. They would sit near the stage; and Linda 


128 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


in imagination looked down from her elevation into 
their proud and happy faces. There was no weariness 
in mamma’s face. 

“ She shall never be tired in those days when I earn 
plenty of money,” thought Linda. “ She shall never 
have to work hard, the way she does now.” 

With that “now” Linda jumped from the future 
back to the present, and was in her own home again. 
Now mamma was always sewing, or doing housework, 
or running after the children when she was tired. She 
had to run after the children because her eldest child, 
her little woman, her little mother, had forsaken her, 
deserted her post, gone off to be lazy and have a good 
time at Aunt Belinda’s. Poor, tired mamma ! how 
Linda longed to throw her arms around her neck and 
tell her that she loved her because she was the very 
dearest mother in the world. 

Aunt Belinda wondered why it was so quiet in the 
library. Voice and piano had stopped making music. 
She thought she had better see if Linda had anything 
to amuse her, and looking in, discovered a little girl 
with her head buried in her arms on the piano. She 
was afraid it was homesickness, and asked cheerily, 

“Asleep, my dear?” 

“No, auntie,” said Linda, lifting a face, not tear- 
stained, as she had feared, only very dreamy and rath- 
er sad. 

“ Not asleep, and of course not homesick,” said 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


129 


auntie. “ Perhaps you are tired of the piano, and we 
can find some other amusement.” 

“ No. I will play a little longer,” said Linda. 

So auntie went back to her knitting, and Linda 
attempted to play. But there was no melody in her 
mind now, so of course none in her fingers. She 
could not dream music, she could not play it; she 
could not dream of future greatness. Although she 
tried her best, she could not conjure up that delightful 
vision of the crowded hall again, with mamma and 
papa on the front seat, wearing happy faces. 

The faces she saw were tired and sad for the loss of 
a little girl who had gone far away. She jumped up 
from the piano ; she could not stay there any longer. 

“ Oh,” thought she, as she stood in the middle of 
the room, clasping her hands so tightly that it hurt, 
“ what shall I do ? It is just like that day in the gar- 
ret. I couldn’t get away from them anywhere. It 
did n’t make any difference how far up I went, I kept 
hearing their voices. Mamma said I would have to go 
farther than the garret to get away from care. She 
thought this would be far enough, but it is n’t, it is n’t. 
I believe their voices are in my heart, and if I went 
around the world they ’d go too. I can hear Polly 
calling, and the baby crying, and mamma singing. Oh, 
if I could just run to them, the way I ran down the 
garret stairs that day !” 

“What are you standing there thinking about, 

17 


130 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


dear?” said auntie, coming once more to look after 
Linda, now that the music had ceased. 

She spoke so gently, and put her arms around her 
so lovingly, that Linda felt ashamed of the terrible 
longing for home which had almost overcome her. 

“What can I do for you, dear? Would you like 
me to play any game? Or will you sit on my lap 
while I try to tell you a story ? Is n’t there anything I 
can do to amuse you ?” • 

“ I think I will write to mamma,” said Linda. 

“Are you not too tired to-night, dear? You had 
better be amused to-night and write the letter when 
you are rested in the morning.” 

But Linda knew that nothing would rest her so 
much as speaking to her mother; and that neither 
books, music, games, nor any of the joys of the new 
life, had power to charm her thoughts from home to- 
night. 

. “I would like to write to her,” she said. 

“ Very well, dear; but make it a short letter.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


131 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Auntie brought her own writing-desk from the 
library, opened it on the parlor table, gave Linda a 
high chair and a footstool, so that she was as cosey 
and comfortable as possible before the parlor fire. She 
looked resolutely away from those slow, blue flames 
that made her dreamy and showed her pictures of 
home ; she dipped her pen in the ink and wrote : “ My 
own darling mamma.” 

She glanced into the fire to find her first sentence, 
for her head was so full of thoughts, crowding upon each 
other in bewildering confusion, that she did not know 
which to select. She had so many things to say that 
she did not know what to say first. 

She looked at the fire and she looked at auntie. 
She wondered how her knitting-needles could go in 
and out so swiftly, touching each other so often, with- 
out making any noise ; she wondered how her rockers 
went back and forth, back and forth, all the evening, 
and not a sound over the carpet. Were her knitting- 
needles different from other knitting-needles, that they 
should never click? and her rockers different from 
other rockers, that they should never creak ? 

She did wish the chair would not be quite so still ; 


132 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


she wished the fire would crackle ; she wished a door 
would slam ; she wished auntie would cough — or even 
sneeze. The perfect silence made her nervous. How 
could any one be expected to write a letter in such a 
terribly quiet room ? 

As Linda asked that question she came very near 
making a little noise herself, for she almost laughed 
aloud. She remembered how she used to long and 
search for a quiet place to write in at home ; how she 
used to complain of the children’s constant confusion, 
and think that if she could only get away somewhere 
in a still, lonely room, beautiful poetry would flow in 
streams from her pencil. Nothing could be stiller and 
lonelier than this room ; and now she was thinking if 
only some one would make a noise, how it would help 
her letter- writing. Here she was sagely reflecting that 
noise was the best element for everything — heart-hap- 
piness, letter-writing, and everything ! What a con- 
trary little girl ! never knowing when she had her own 
way, only wanting things because she could not get 
them ! What an absurd Linda ! No w'onder she 
laughed at herself 

She could not have laughed at anything a few min- 
utes ago; but she was lighter-hearted now than she 
had been since she bade mamma good-by at noon. 
Writing tp her was not talking, to be sure ; bnt it was 
the next best thing. How she wished she could climb 
up in her lap, put her arms around her neck, and tell 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


133 


her all she had to say; but she must not think of that; 
she would go on with her letter — pour all her heart 
into a sheet of paper. 

Even the disturbing quiet of the room could not 
prevent her thoughts from flowing fast. What a bless- 
ing to have a mother always ready to hear everything 
that perplexed and burdened a little child’s mind! 
Linda never had a trouble which she could not tell 
mamma. She had never known a time when she 
could not roll her burdens off upon her mother’s love 
and sympathy, and have them lightened, if not re- 
moved. She already felt that lightness of spirit which 
always came at the mere prospect of “telling mam- 
ma.” 

So dipping her pen in the ink again, she wrote : “ I 
want to see you so much I do n’t know what to do. I 
cannot read the loveliest story to-night. I do n’t care 
one bit for playing on the piano now. I cannot think 
of anything but you, and I feel as if I must go home 
on the first train to-morrow.” 

What a load was off her mind already ! It was 
almost equal to having gone home on the first train. 

“ I cannot live away from you all, mamma darling,” 
she continued, saying just what was uppermost in her 
thoughts. “ If you will let me come home, I will never 
want to go to school again, or take music-lessons, or 
anything. My heart aches to go home. I would 
rather stay in the kitchen there and wash dishes all 


134 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


day, than to stay in the library and play on the piano 
all day here. Please write to auntie that you cannot 
spare me any longer. I do n’t care about anything but 
seeing you.” 

Linda had poured out so much of her heart before 
she paused to reflect. But her reflections must come 
sooner or later ; and it did not take her long to dis- 
cover that it was a selfish letter she was preparing for 
those who loved her. What would auntie think if she 
should happen to peep over her shoulder? Would 
not mamma be disappointed to have her miss all the 
opportunities for improvement that auntie had so kind- 
ly offered? Would not papa think her a coward? 
Would she herself be satisfied that she had acted wisely 
and bravely to-morrow when she reached home and 
began the old life again ? 

“ Courage, Linda. Do not give up at once. Try 
to bear it a little longer. Be brave for the sake of 
those who love you.” Something like that she said to 
herself as she told auntie she had spoiled a sheet of 
paper, and asked for another. 

She threw the cowardly letter into the blue flames. 
They lapped over it slowly, and burned it bit by bit, in 
a quiet and orderly manner. “ Why do n’t you snatch 
it?” thought Linda. “Why don’t you toss it and 
catch it ? Any other fire would. Why do n’t you 
burn it up fast, nnd make it snap and crackle ? Be- 
cause you ’re a stupid old fire, and as slow and still as 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


135 


everything else in the room. I ’d like to give you a 
good poking.” 

It was very hard to struggle against the depressing 
quiet all about her, and at the same time make an 
effort to keep out of her letter everything that she 
most wanted to say. It was a hard letter to write, but 
at last she finished it, and this is how she succeeded : 

“ My own darling mamma : I arrived safely, and 
have read part of a story already, and played some- 
thing on auntie’s piano that she says sounds like a 
tune. I enjoyed it very much. 

“ There are a great many beautiful books in the 
library; and I am going to school to-morrow. Per- 
haps I will take my first music-lesson to-morrow, too. 

“ Auntie is knitting, and I am sitting near her,wri- 
ting at her desk which she brought out of the library 
for me. She bought me a pretty little chair like her 
own. Is n’t she kind ? 

“ I have a very pretty room. I wish Polly could 
have half of the bed, only it is too narrow for both of 
us. There is a lovely picture of a mother with a baby 
in her arms over my bed. Auntie says it is a Madon- 
na, but I think it looks like you. 

“ That is all I have to tell you to-night ; but there 
will be more for my next letter. I send, oh, so much 
love to you and dear papa and the children. Good-by. 

“ Your loving little daughter, 

“ BELINDA BARTO.” 


36 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


Linda was glad that she had succeeded with her 
letter, but was still unrelieved of her heartache. It 
was such a new, strange feeling to have a sorrow shut 
up within her which she could not pour into any one’s 
loving ears, that she drew a long, long, deep sigh, as 
if she could breathe her burden out and get rid of it 
upon the air. But the sigh did not carry the heart- 
ache with it ; it only convinced Aunt Belinda that the 
child was indeed very homesick. 

But Linda could have borne her pent-up home- 
sickness better if she had known how glad the brave 
letter was going to make mamma. When it arrived 
mamma felt sure the new life was proving more attrac- 
tive than she had dared hope, and that her little girl 
was quite happy. She did not know how well she had 
learned unselfishness from her own example, nor sus- 
pect how she had struggled to conceal her heartache 
and keep out of the letter one word which could give 
pain at home. 

“ I think a long night’s rest will be the best thing 
for you, Linda,” said auntie. “ Do you feel tired 
enough to go to bed now ? The longer you sleep the 
fresher you will be for school to-morrow.” 

“ I am tired,” said Linda, “ and I would like to go 
to bed right away, auntie.” 

So auntie and she went up stairs, and auntie tucked 
her in as nicely and kissed her as tenderly as if she had 
been some little girl’s mamma some time or other. But 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


137 


Linda knew that her only child was the one little boy 
whom she kept but a few months and who left her 
home desolate when he died ; for his papa had gone 
to heaven not long before, so that the second death 
left auntie quite alone. 

“ It is very pleasant to have some one to say good- 
night to,” said auntie; and Linda, thinking of all auntie 
had lost, resolved to do what she could to help fill the 
vacancies in her heart and home. 

“ Besides,” she said to herself, ‘‘ perhaps I will never 
be so homesick again as I am to-night. Perhaps school 
will make all the difference. Perhaps it will be easy to 
be happy to-morrow ; and I mean to do as mamma 
told me, and not let myself think about the cares at 
home any more. Now I will go right to sleep.” 

But it was not mamma’s cares that she found diffi- 
cult to keep from her thoughts now. Her heart was 
aching for herself Although she was tired bodily, the 
weight of those sorrows which she had not poured into 
any one’s loving ears so oppressed her that she could 
not sleep. 

She had said her prayers before auntie went down, 
but suddenly she realized, with a sweet sense of relief, 
that there was some One to whom she need not be 
ashamed nor afraid to tell the whole story, which she 
could not tell even mamma ; and she was on her knees 
again in a moment. 

How easy it was to talk to her heavenly Father out 
18 


138 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


of a full heart ; how near he seemed now that she was 
far from her dear ones, and yet no farther from him 
than if she had never left home. What a friend he 
seemed to Linda when her best earthly friends could 
not come to her. There was comfort in the thought 
that she had one Friend from whom no distance could 
separate her. 

She felt better when she jumped into bed the sec- 
ond time. Part of her grief had gone in the telling. 
It was not so unbearable now that some One knew how 
homesick she was ; how far away she felt from the love 
and shelter which had always been around her. 

She was like a little lamb astray on the hills in the 
darkness, who goes searching and bleating in vain for 
its shepherd. She realized bitterly that she was out of 
the home-fold where the others were sleeping, secure 
and contented, to-night; and her heart turned with 
longing to the Good Shepherd whose fold was wide 
enough always to take her in. 

It was so pleasant to feel that she had not wandered 
from him and that he would never leave her, that Linda 
seemed to find her way back from those cold and des- 
olate hills where she had been astray, and creep into 
shelter, all tired and wounded as she was. 

She remembered then a promise she had given 
papa in his office, and understood why he had asked 
her to repeat the twenty-third psalm, during the next 
three months, whenever she should be in trouble. It 


139 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 

seemed such a tender and fatherly provision for this 
time of her need ; it showed such loving forethought, 
and was so like that other great Fatherly love which 
she felt bending over her from the skies, that some 
sweet, grateful tears came and carried a little more of 
the heartache away. 

Then she began to repeat the psalm : “ The Lord 
is my Shepherd.” The Lord who had stooped to lis- 
ten to her pitiful little tale and share her secret, the 
Lord whose love was as great as his power, was the 
Shepherd who took the lambs in his arms and carried 
them in his bosom. One of his lambs nestled closer to 
his bosom at that thought. 

“ The Lord is my Shepherd ; I shall not want.” 
Could any one need that more than she ? Was she 
not always wanting something? When she was at 
home she fretted for books and a piano, for quiet and 
leisure. Now that she had those desires gratified, she 
longed for home. What was it that she could find in 
the Good Shepherd’s fold to satisfy her and take away 
the want and pain she so often knew ? Was it the 
contented heart of which papa had talked? Was it 
the blessed secret of happiness which he said some 
people found and carried with them everywhere ? 

“Please give me a happy heart,” was the next 
prayer that Linda offered ; and she resolved that she 
would try to be contented in the new life and avoid 
the mistakes she had made in the old. She would try 


140 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


to think so much of all the blessings she was receiving 
that she would have no time to brood over her losses ; 
she would enjoy the books and piano, the study and 
the quiet, and not miss her darlings any more than she 
could help ; try to think more of what she possessed 
than of what she wanted, and so perhaps the wants 
would cease to ache and satisfaction come. 

“ He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.” 
She loved to lie down in green pastures on a summer 
day, when the sky was blue through the branches of 
the trees, the grass a soft couch, the air sweet, and 
songs all about her. The words gave her rest. 

“ He leadeth me beside the still waters.” There 
was even deeper repose in these words. She remem- 
bered the still, clear pond under the willows at home, 
where nothing but peace could ever come. 

“ He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the 
paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, 
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
death, I will fear no evil ; for thou art with me ” — 
thou art with me,” she repeated, as she struggled to 
keep awake long enough to say the whole. 

But clinging to the happy thought that she need 
fear nothing on the morrow if her Lord was with her, 
this little lamb, astray from the home-fold, fell fast 
asleep in the green pastures and beside the still waters 
which the Shepherd had provided for her rest. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


141 


CHAPTER XV. 

When she awoke she saw a few bright little sun- 
beams struggling to get into her room. They were 
having such a hard time of it against the closed blinds, 
being only able to gain admittance through a few small 
holes, that Linda jumped up to help them. She threw 
the blinds wide open, and her room was flooded with 
light. 

Everything was shining around her ; the pretty or- 
naments that auntie had arranged on the shelves and 
brackets glistened, the long mirror caught the sunshine 
and reflected it everywhere, the pictures stood out 
brightly, and the mother with the baby in her arms 
looked at her through a radiance. 

Her gentle eyes had saddened Linda a little last 
night with their intense gaze, but their expression 
seemed more cheerful this morning. Linda fancied 
they watched her lovingly, and . accepted the picture 
as a friend. 

It was wonderful how differently everything looked 
in the morning light ; the room that had seemed so 
dreary last night, in spite of its pretty ornaments, wore 
a homelike aspect this morning. 

It was very still, of course, too still altogether. But 


142 


OUT OF. THE FOLD. 


while Linda was missing the bustle and confusion with 
which every day began at home, and wishing that she 
could hear merry voices shouting good-morning and 
little feet pattering about, some one pulled the door- 
bell so hard that it rang loudly through every corner 
of the house. 

Linda heard auntie hurrying to the door and then 
saying, 

“ You here so early, Jinnle?” 

“It is n’t too early for me,” answered loud ringing 
tones. “ Where is she ?” 

“ In bed, I presume,” said auntie. “ You cannot 
see her yet. We haven’t breakfasted.” 

“I have,” said Jinnie. “I do n’t care if she is in 
bed. Wont you let me see her ?” 

“ My dear little sunshine, I want you to see her as 
soon as possible,” said auntie; “and if you can’t 
wait — ” 

“ I can’t,” said Jinnie ; then Linda heard her come 
running and laughing up the stairs. 

What Linda saw peeping in at her door, was a 
round face, rosy and merry. She did not wonder that 
auntie called her sunshine, for nothing in the room 
shone brighter than her twinkling black eyes and the 
roguish smile which belonged as much to her two deep 
dimples as to her mouth, and which seemed to be a 
part of every feature. 

What Jinnie saw, seated on the floor, was a little 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


143 


girl just about to put a bare foot into a stocking, and 
looking up at her with large dreamy blue eyes, in a 
grave, bewildered manner. 

“ How sober she looks,” thought Jinnie. “ I wonder 
if I Ve frightened her ?” 

“Peek-a-boo !” she said. Linda laughed in reply. 

“ My name is Jinnie,” was the next remark. 

“ And mine is Linda,” was the answer. 

“ Mine is Virginia Mansfield.” 

“ Mine is Belinda Barto.” 

“ Belinda !” said Jinnie. . “ What a funny name !” 

She noticed that the fair little girl on the floor 
blushed very easily. 

“I am named for auntie,” said Linda, with dignity. 

“For this auntie? Mrs. Richardson?” 

“ Yes,” said Linda. 

“ I never knew her name was Belinda. Why do n’t 
they call you Bee ?” 

“ I do n’t know,” said Linda, pulling on her second 
stocking. 

“ Might call you Bumble Bee,” said Jinnie, perching 
herself on the foot of the bed, and feeling an irresisti- 
ble desire to tease Linda. “ Or Honey Bee — if you ’re 
sweet enough. Are you sweet ? Or Busy Bee. Do 
you like to work ?” 

“What a disagreeable girl,” thought Linda, “to 
stare at me so and make fun of my name !” 

But when she turned and looked into Jinnie’s face it 


144 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


was impossible to feel angry, for there was nothing but 
good humor there. 

“ Do you like to work ?” she insisted. 

“Yes,” answered Linda shortly; “sometimes.” 

“But I wont call you Busy Bee,” said Jinnie, with a 
charming change of voice. “ I ’ll call you Honey Bee, 
because I think you ’re real sweet.” 

“ You ’d better call me Linda, I think.” 

“ Well, Linda then, I am glad you came.” 

“ Are you?” said Linda. “Why?” 

“ Because we are going to be intimate, very inti- 
mate friends.” ... 

“ How can you tell?” 

“ My mamma and your auntie are ; and Mrs. Rich- 
ardson has been talking to mamma and me about you 
all the time. She said I must look after you and be 
your friend now you were away from home and every- 
thing. I ’m going to be like brothers and sisters to 
you, you know; I ’m going to take you to school 
to-day and take all the care of you. Mrs. Richardson 
asked me to come and see you the very first thing. 
But I was out in the country to tea last night. So I 
came as soon as I could this morning, did n’t I ? Mrs. 
Richardson thought it was a little too soon, didn’t she? 
I hurried through breakfast. Mamma said it was too 
early to come over; but papa laughed at my impa- 
tience, and when he was laughing out I ran ; and here 
I am, here I am, here I am !” 













OUT OF THE FOLD. 


M5 


She sang the last words as if they were three lines 
of a song. She had rattled all her words off as fast as 
they could possibly come one after another, and seemed 
to love to hear the sound of her own voice. Although 
she threw many little questions in among her various 
remarks, she never stopped for Linda to answer, but 
only seemed to wish to be allowed to do all the 
talking. 

“ Come, Magpie, you have chattered enough,” said 
auntie, as she came to bid her little niece good-morn- 
ing. “ I am going to take you down stairs, and Linda 
will follow when she is ready ; then you shall have a 
second breakfast with her.” 

Linda heard Jinnie still chattering all the way down 
stairs, and the loud tones did not cease one moment 
after auntie had taken her into the parlor. 

Linda was glad to finish her dressing by herself; 
and she closed her door to shut out Jinnie’s voice 
while she knelt down to ask her Heavenly Father to 
bless and keep her through the day. 

The breakfast bell rang, and when she got down 
Jinnie was already at the table looking eagerly at a hot 
muffin. 

“ Hurry, hurry, Linda,” she said, “ the muffins will 
be cold.” 

“No one would imagine that you had had one 
breakfast already,” said auntie. 

“ I did n’t have much of a one,” said Jinnie, “ but 

19 


146 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


I wanted to see Linda so much that I didn’t care. 
Now I ’ve seen her I can eat. I ’m glad I saw her 
real early, and I ’m glad I saw her up stairs, are n’t 
you, Linda? I feel as if we knew each other better 
now that I ’ve been up in your room while you were 
dressing, do n’t you, Linda ? We ’re going to be as 
intimate as you and my mamma, did you know it, 
Mrs. Richardson? Linda’s going to sit by me in 
school perhaps, if Daisy Webster ’ll sit somewhere 
else; wont that be nice, Linda? Are you in Fourth 
Reader? or do you read in History? I used to read 
in the Book of Nature. There’s the clock striking 
eight. School will begin in an hour. Do you feel 
afraid, Linda?” 

The last question was the only one that received an 
answer, for she had not paused a moment after one of 
the others to give auntie or Linda an opportunity to 
speak. But she was obliged to stop at last in order to 
give a little attention to her muffins. 

“I don’t believe I’ll be afraid with you, Jinnie,” 
said Linda. 

“No, indeed,” said auntie, laughing. “Jinnie is 
quite capable of taking you safely through the first 
day, Linda, you need fear nothing under her wing.” 

When at last the moment came to enter the school- 
room, Linda clutched Jinnie’s hand and felt glad of such 
a friend. There were girls on the path, girls on the 
steps, girls in the hall, girls in the schoolroom ; there 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


147 


was no end to them anywhere, it seemed to Linda; 
and of course they all wanted to see the new scholar, 
and it was not at all pleasant to feel so many strange 
eyes watching her. 

But Jinnie did not linger a moment anywhere. She 
cleared her way through all the groups, and dragging 
Linda by the hand, marched briskly through hall and 
schoolroom straight to the teacher’s desk. 

“ What shall I tell her your name is ?” she whis- 
pered quickly, just before they reached Miss Davies. 
Not waiting for an answer, as usual, she said, “ I wont 
tell her it is Belinda. Linda sounds better.” 

“ Good morning. Miss Davis. This is Linda Barto.” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Richardson’s little niece. I am glad to 
see you, my dear,” said Miss Davies. 

“ Is Daisy Webster here ?” said Jinnie. “ I want to 
ask her if she will let Linda sit by me. May I, Miss 
Davies? Linda would like to stay with me until she 
gets acquainted with the other girls ; would n’t you, 
Linda? Besides, I want her to sit by me, because 
we ’re going to be intimate friends, like her auntie and 
my mamma. Miss Davies. Besides — ” 

“ Never mind about any more reasons, Jinnie,” said 
Miss Davies. “ We must find Daisy at once, for it is 
almost nine.” 

“You stay right by Miss Davies, Linda. She’ll 
take care of you till I come back,” said Jinnie, as she 
flew away. 


148 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


Jinnie’s absence gave Linda an opportunity to be- 
come acquainted with her new teacher; and when she 
returned she said that she had made satisfactory ar- 
rangements with Daisy, and ushered Linda to her seat 
in a retired corner. 

From that sheltered post of observation Linda could 
see as well as be seen; and when her protector flut- 
tered into the seat beside her, and began to tell her the 
names of the different girls, with'some; interesting little 
bit of information about each one, Linda really forgot, 
in observing them all, that she was being observed. 

Auntie could not have chosen a better friend to 
pilot Linda through the perils of those first days at 
school; and Linda clung gratefully to Jinnie’s protec- 
tion. She was very unlike the children Linda had 
always known: she was constantly startling her, she 
often teased her and sometimes offended her by her 
abrupt ways and words ; but she was a child, with a 
child’s heart ; and' the lonely little, heart turned lovingly 
to any other, and sought sympathy where it seemed 
most natural to find it. . . 

Jinnie was of her own age. Jinnie had a dear 
mother; and she must be able to understand what it 
was for a little girl to be separated by miles and miles 
of land from her mother. Linda longed to talk her 
troubles over with her new friend, and be comforted 
by sympathetic tears and caresses. 

It seemed as if her heart would break sometimes. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


149 


for every day her longing for home increased, and 
every evening the little parlor seemed lonelier, the still- 
ness more oppressive, and the going to bed without 
mamma more cruel. 

Linda could not have borne it at all except for the 
comfort which she received from the thought that the 
Good Shepherd’s love was around her. Every night 
she went to sleep, at last, hushed by that thought. 
Her own psalm, as she called the twenty-third, was 
repeated so often that sometimes, when she sat idle for 
a moment, the words began to say themselves, and she 
was unconscious of what she said till she had almost 
reached the end. It never lost its power to help her ; 
but she needed help more and more as the days went 
on. 

She wrote home almost every day, and had always 
the same brave story to tell mamma. After receiving 
mamma’s reply to her first letter, and learning how 
much pleasure it had given her to know that her child 
was happy, Linda . determined that mamma should 
never know she was unhappy. 

Of course it was quite impossible for her to pour 
out her heart to auntie. How ungrateful it would be 
to tell her that she was not satisfied with all that she 
was doing for her. What an unkind reward for her 
kindness to tell her that the heart which ought to be 
quite happy had a miserable little ache shut up in it all 
the time. No, she must never let auntie know that she 


150 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


was homesick any more than mamma. She could tell 
the story every night to her Heavenly Father, seek and 
find his comfort at any time ; but it was natural that 
she should also long for human sympathy; and the 
only human being whom she could take into her con- 
fidence was Jinnie. 

When Jinnie was saucy and mischievous ; when she 
talked pages of nonsense at the most rapid rate ; when 
she made fun of her new friend, buzzing about her and 
teasing her like a little wasp — then Linda felt that her 
secret must be buried for ever in her own heart. 

But when Jinnie was impulsive only in her affec- 
tion, when she loved her little friend best, called her 
Honey Bee, and told her she was the sweetest girl she 
knew, when her tones were gentle and her eyes soft, 
her dimples demure, and her smile loving instead of 
mocking, then Linda felt as if she could put her arms 
around her neck and whisper all the misery into her 
ear. 

But day after day went by, and it was a week since 
she had left home. A week was a little thing, Linda 
used to think, running away all too quickly often; but 
this week — why, it was more like a month. 

“ Four weeks make a month,” said Linda to her- 
self; “three times four are twelve. I am to stay three 
months at least — twelve weeks just like this last one! 
O dear!” 

She said “ O dear !” aloud ; and Jinnie, who was 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


151 

walking home from school with her, put her arm 
around her waist, and said gently, 

“ What is the matter. Honey Bee ?” 

Linda had never quite reached that point where 
she could speak freely to Jinnie before. It seemed a 
little treacherous to auntie to confess that she was not 
happy; but her heart was very full to-day, and that one 
desolate week looked so dark behind her, those eleven 
desolate weeks so very dark before her, that she clung 
to this sunny little bit of friendship wedged in between 
them ; she yielded to the comfort of Jinnie’s arm around 
her and Jinnie’s soft tones in her ear, and said, 

“ O Jinnie, did your heart ever feel as if it was 
going to break ?” 

“ Oh, no,” said Jinnie. “ I wish it did. Did 
yours ?” 

“You wouldn’t think it was so grand to have a 
heart breaking if you tried it once,” said Linda. 

“ I ’d like to try, any way,” said Jinnie. “ It sounds 
just like books.” 

“ But it hurts dreadfully,” said Linda. 

“ Oh, of course it does,” said Jinnie briskly. “ That’s 
the way for it to do.” 

“Well, never mind,” said Linda sadly. “I was 
going to tell you something, but I wont.” 

“Why not, dear?” said Jinnie, with that quick 
change from a mischievous to a sympathetic tone that 
was so charming. 


152 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ Perhaps I will,” said Linda. 

“Yes, do,” said Jinnie. “Tell me what makes 
your heart ache.” 

“ Did you ever go away from your mother, Jinnie ?” 

“ Yes,” said Jinnie. 

“Faraway?” 

“ I often go to the country to stay over night, or for 
a few days; and I have been to Uncle James’. I was 
there five weeks; but it didn’t seem more than five 
days. Should you think it would, Linda, when I was 
having such a splendid time every minute ? I had to 
go home. Was n’t it too bad ? . I wish I could have 
stayed five weeks longer ; do n’t you ? And last sum- 
mer I went to Aunt Susan’s for a fortnight, and I stayed 
all summer long. Was n’t that lovely ? I think papa 
might have let me stay all winter. I felt dreadfully 
when I had to come home ; so did auntie and uncle. 
Uncle said he would give me a pair of skates if I would 
stay. They have a Rink. Did you ever skate in a 
Rink, Linda ? It is such fun. O dear ! I wish I had 
stayed. Don’t you think papa might have let me 
stay, Linda?” 

“O Jinnie, didn’t your heart ever ache for your 
mother when you were away ?” said Linda. 

“ No,” said Jinnie brightly. “ How could my heart 
ache when I was having such a good time?” 

“ Did n’t you miss her at night ?” 

“ I could n’t miss her when I was asleep, could I ?” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


53 


“ Did you go right to sleep the moment you got 
into bed ? Did n’t you ever lie awake and think ?” 

Jinnie laughed, and danced around in a little circle 
on the pavement in her mirth. 

“ O Linda,” said she, “ that reminds me of the fun- 
niest thing. They all called me Sleepy-head, and Un- 
cle Arthur said he believed the sand-man was after me 
all day long, for I used to go to sleep wherever I was, 
just as soon as I got tired. Isn’t that a comfortable 
way to do ? And one day I went to sleep in church, 
and nearly tumbled off the seat; and some days I 
played so hard that when I sat down to rest a minute 
I ’d go to sleep in my chair. But one day I ’ll tell you 
what happened. I always used to stay up at night just 
as long as auntie would let me. I used to coax and 
coax to stay a minute longer, so that by the time I 
went to bed I could hardly keep my eyes open. I 
would almost tumble down the stairs before I got to 
the top ; and it was hard work to get undressed when 
I was so sleepy, should n’t you think it would be, Lin- 
da? Well, one night I didn’t even try to keep my 
eyes open when I was going up stairs. I just felt my 
way with my feet, and held on to the banister so that 
I would n’t fall ; and when I got up my head was bob- 
bing around so that I did n’t care whether I ever got 
undressed and went to bed — I only wanted to put my 
head down somewhere that very minute. Wouldn’t 
you, Linda, if you had been so sleepy ? There was a 
20 


54 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


lounge that stood across the corner of the hall, and I 
saw it ; then I did n’t remember anything more. But 
what do you think I did, Linda? I dropped down 
there and was asleep in a minute, and after a while I 
rolled off behind it, all wrapped up in the afghan, and 
there I stayed as still as a mouse. When auntie came 
up stairs there was no little girl in my bed. Should n’t 
you think she would have been frightened? They 
hunted all over, and then they hunted in the neighbors’ 
houses, and they looked around the garden ; and if I 
had n’t bumped my head, perhaps they would have got 
ever so many men and gone out with lanterns to look 
through the woods, and perhaps they would have 
hunted in the river. Do you suppose they would, 
Linda? Wouldn’t it have been fun, when I was safe 
in the corner all the time ? But I bumped my head. 
It got under the lounge, and when I wanted to turn it 
over, bump it went against the lounge, and hurt me so 
that I woke right up. I could n’t think what was the 
matter. I wondered how I got into that funny little 
corner, and I looked at the afghan and my clothes ; 
then I began to climb out ; and when I saw the lamps 
were lighted and it was night, I remembered how I 
came up stairs to go to bed ; and I began to laugh so 
that I ached with laughing by the time auntie heard 
me and ran up and found me.” 

When Jinnie finished her long story she was so 
overcome by the recollection of her funny experience 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


55 


that Linda shared her merriment and laughed as heart- 
ily as she, almost forgetting how gloomily the conver- 
sation had begun. 

But Jinnie wished to hear about the heartache. 

“ There, Linda,” she said, “ I have been talking all 
this time, and you Ve never told me your secret. 
When I begin to talk I keep on and on. Did you 
ever know such a tongue ? But I ’m going to stop 
now, because I want you to talk. Begin right away, 
and do n’t give me a chance to interrupt you, or I ’ll 
never hear the secret, and I long to know it.” 

“Jinnie,” said Linda, “if your heart had been ach- 
ing for your mother when it got dark and night came, 
you would n’t have felt so sleepy. Heartaches keep 
people awake sometimes. I do n’t see how you could 
help missing your own mother once in a while.” 

“What was the use?” said Jinnie. “It wouldn’t 
have brought her there. I love my mother dearly 
enough, I should hope. But that ’s no reason I should 
make myself feel badly when it would n’t do a bit of 
good. I would n’t be so silly ; my mother would n’t 
want me to.” 

“ I know she would n’t,” said Linda, “ only I do n’t 
see how you could help it.” 

“ Linda !” said Jinnie sternly, and in a tone that 
expressed great disappointment, “ is that all you were 
going to tell me? Is it that little bit of a thing that 
your heart aches about ? I ’d be ashamed ! The idea 


156 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


of getting homesick when you are having such a good 
time ! I do n’t think your mother would approve of it 
at all.” 

“ I ’m sure she would n’t,” Linda answered meekly, 
resolving never to confide in any one again, but to keep 
her sorrows hidden from every human being during 
the dreary days of all the weeks that stretched before 
her. - 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


157 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“ Linda Barto !” said Miss Davies, for the third 
• time during one school-hour. 

Linda started just as she used to at home when 
mamma roused her from her dreams. 

She heard a giggle which she had heard twice be- 
fore that morning. Every time that Miss Davies spoke 
her name suddenly she started, and every time that 
she started Jinnie giggled. 

“You will never learn your lesson by looking out 
of the window,” said Miss Davies. “ There is a time 
to dream, my dear, and a time to study.” 

Jinnie did not giggle this time, for the reason that 
she saw other girls inclined to do so. She might tease 
Linda herself; she considered it her privilege ; but she 
would allow no one else to laugh at her. So Jinnie 
was to be seen scowling upon the giggling girls until 
they looked sufficiently grave, when she took advan- 
tage of her privilege as most intimate friend and gig- 
gled herself. 

She tickled Linda’s elbow and pointed at her and 
shook her head in a provoking manner. But when 
she saw the color mounting higher and higher in Lin- 
da’s cheeks, and something moist and shining coming 


158 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


down to meet the rising flush, she was very sorry that 
she had teased her. She tore a piece of paper out of 
the back of her book, and wrote, 

“ Darling Bee : Do n’t cry, or I will have a 
heartache like that one you told me about yesterday. 
I love you better than anybody almost. Of course I 
don’t mean my father and mother; but you are the 
nicest girl in school, only you make me think of ‘ Niobe 
all tears.’ Do you know that story ? I ’ll tell it to you 
at recess. You must get over being homesick; then 
you wont dream or have the blues. If you don’t 
dream. Miss Davies wont scold you ; and if you do n’t 
have the blues, I wont make fun of you ; so there wont 
be any trouble if you stop being homesick. Never 
mind those girls. I wont let them laugh at you ; and 
you must n’t mind me, because I ’m your most intimate 
friend. 

“JINNIE MANSFIELD.” 

Linda could not quite see why their intimacy was 
any excuse for Jinnie’s tormenting her. It seemed 
sometimes as if everybody liked to tease her. Even 
papa did. He used to say that he could not help it, 
she took things so seriously. That must be the rea- 
son, because she took things seriously. But papa 
never made her angry. She always felt that there was 
love in his most mocking words. Love took the sting 
out of everything, thought Linda ; and one who had 
enough of that ought not to miss anything else. If 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


59 


she could only go home to the wealth of love she had 
left, she would know how to value it, she believed, and 
never waste any time desiring smaller things and fan- 
cying they could satisfy her. But Jinnie said she loved 
her. Perhaps she ought to believe it, even if she could 
not feel it at present. At least she might forgive her. 

So she looked around with a pardoning smile ; then 
Jinnie pointed at Miss Davies and at Linda’s book, 
warning her to dream no more. 

“ It is a kind warning,” reflected Linda ; and then 
she began to appreciate the kindness in Jinnie’s note. 
Was it not true that her homesickness was the cause 
of her blues and her dreaming, of Jinnie’s teasing and 
Miss Davies’ rebuke? Linda’s cheeks burned with 
shame when she thought of that public rebuke; for 
although Miss Davies had called her out of her dreams 
often before, this was the first speech she had made on 
the subject. 

Linda knew that she deserved it. She had v/asted 
a great deal of time during this first week of school 
looking out of the window and seeing visions of home, 
instead of improving the opportunities which she used 
to long for when she was there. 

And it was the very thing which she had resolved 
every night not to do. It was much easier to make 
good resolutions in her own little room in the evening 
than to carry them out at school in the daytime. But 
now she determined that she would begin to act. Miss 


i6o 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


Davies’ rebuke and Jinnie’s note had fairly roused her 
to the knowledge that she had only been dreaming her 
duty, not doing it, all this time. 

For the rest of the hour Linda studied so hard, 
driving away every thought not connected with her 
lesson, that Miss Davies was very much pleased, and 
praised not only her diligence, but the recitation which 
followed. 

“You have not had such a good lesson since you 
came, my dear,” she said; “and I am sure you could 
always have them if you would try. I expect you to 
be one of my best scholars.” 

“ I am going to study hard after this,” said Linda. 

“ And dream a little less,” said Miss Davies with a 
smile, as she put her hand on the bell to ring it for 
recess. 

“ Come, Honey Bee,” said Jinnie. 

“ O Jinnie,” said Linda, “as they twined their arms 
about each other’s waists, “ do n’t forget to tell me 
what you meant by ‘ Niobe all tears.’ ” 

“ It ’s a wonder that I know and you do n’t,” said 
Jinnie. “ You alw'ays know all the stories in history 
and mythology.” 

“ I ’ve heard of Niobe, but I do n’t know what she 
did.” 

“ She cried,” said Jinnie. Her husband and four- 
teen children were killed ; and she cried tears enough 
for the whole fifteen. Just think of that! Then she 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


i6i 

was turned into a rock (it is n’t a true story, Linda) 
but she could n’t stop crying ; so a stream came pour- 
ing out of the rock and poured and poured for ever. 
You wont be ‘Linda all tears,’ will you ? You wont 
be homesick for ever, will you, so that the tears keep 
coming ? I wont have you like Niobe ! I ’ll make 
you laugh whether you want to or not.” 

Linda laughed out very naturally at Jinnie’s words. 

“ Some of the girls are afraid of you ; they think 
you are so sober,” said Jinnie. “ I never was afraid of 
you, not even that first moment I saw you, when you 
gave me such a solemn look for peeping into your 
room before you were dressed. I ’m not afraid of any- 
thing! I told the girls this morning that you were 
homesick, and that you ’d get over it before long ; and 
I told them how splendidly you could jump rope. I 
said you could do ‘ hot peppers ’ better than any one 
I knew. They all want to see you. Come along, and 
we’ll borrow Fanny Stacy’s rope. I told the girls 
you were more afraid of them than they were of you.” 

Linda was going to draw back, being rather shy 
about displaying her accomplishments in public. 

“The sooner you get over being afraid of each 
other the better,” said Jinnie; and Linda, feeling the 
wisdom of her words, allowed herself to be drawn 
along. 

They were playing “ Going to school.” Daisy 
Webster and Dora King were turning the rope ; and 


21 


102 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


one after another the little girls jumped through it. 
Each seemed anxious not to get there last ; but there 
was not exactly a struggle to be first; no one pushed 
another aside, though all were on the alert for an 
opportunity to skip into line as quickly as possible. 
But some sort of order prevailed until Jinnie came. 

All had gone to school but four when she and 
Linda appeared. She had no idea of being the last 
arrival, nor of having her friend left behind either. So 
she dashed at the little waiting company of four, drag- 
ging Linda by the hand; she pushed one aside and 
then another; and they hardly knew that she was 
there when she had jumped the rope and gone to 
school, leaving the other girls behind to gaze at her in 
astonishment. 

“Come on, Linda!” she shouted, dancing up and 
down, and throwing her long arms about in the air 
like a windmill. “Hurry! hurry! hurry! why don’t 
you come? You’ll be the next at school if you come 
on.” 

She had dragged Linda with her and left her near- 
est the rope as she jumped through it, but no sooner 
did Linda recover from her surprise than she stepped 
back and said, “ It is your turn, Minnie.” 

A murmur immediately began to rise throughout 
the multitude. No one had murmured at Jinnie before, 
because it was generally understood that Jinnie Mans- 
field was to have her own way. She was a privileged 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


163 

character ; and though many of her freaks were not 
pleasant, yet so many of them were generous and 
charming that they seemed an excuse for those which 
were otherwise. People bore a great deal from Jinnie 
because she made them love her even while she was 
teasing them. 

If Linda had followed Jinnie and said nothing, her 
present freak would only have been noticed by a few 
contemptuous looks, which, as they were neither blows 
nor words, would not have hurt Jinnie particularly. 

But there seemed to all of the girls a rebuke in 
Linda’s action and words, though she intended noth- 
ing of the kind. She only followed her first impulse. 
It was as natural for her to give up the place which 
did not belong to her as it had been for Jinnie to 
claim it. 

None of the girls were sorry that Jinnie had re- 
ceived the rebuke she deserved and which they would 
not have dared administer. But if this new friend who, 
as Jinnie had confided to the school, loved her like a 
sister, if this dear friend, quiet and timid as she seemed, 
could rebuke Jinnie Mansfield publicly, certainly the 
rest might uphold her in it. They were not sorry for 
such an opportunity to express their opinion. 

“ It was my turn, Jinnie Mansfield,” said Minnie 
Barry. 

“ You ought to have waited till we four had jumped,” 
said Katie Crow. 


164 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“You nearly pushed me over,” said Janie Crane. 

“You are very rude,” said Fanny Fothergill. 

“ If I ’d seen you a minute sooner I ’d have stopped 
the rope,” said Daisy Webster. 

“So would I,” said Dora King. 

Instead of replying to the host of adversaries 
suddenly risen up against her, Jinnie turned with fla- 
ming cheeks and flashing eyes toward Linda. She 
understood why the girls who had not dared attack 
her before dared now. 

“Why didn’t you jump when I told you to?” she 
demanded. 

“ It was n’t my turn,” said Linda. 

“I s’pose you mean to say it wasn’t mine,” said 
Jinnie, walking away indignantly. 

A little laugh followed her departure : but Linda 
did not laugh. She ran after Jinnie with a very trou- 
bled face. 

“O Jinnie, are you angry?” she said. “I didn’t 
mean to make you angry.” 

“You had better go back to your friends,” said 
Jinnie scornfully. 

“Let her alone,” said Daisy Webster, who had 
been the most intimate friend before Linda came, and 
understood Jinnie well. “She will be over it in a few 
minutes. We are going to have Jacob’s Ladder next. 
Now, Linda, we will see how you jump. We have all 
heard about your jumping.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


165 

“That’s a very embarrassing- thing to tell her,” 
said Fanny Fothergill. “Of course she’ll make mis- 
takes after that.” 

“ I ’ll try what I can do,” said Linda, laughing and 
blushing ; “ but I ’m afraid I wont do very well now 
that I know you expect me to.” 


i66 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

At first they turned the rope so near the ground 
tliat it was difficult to make a mistake, yet Linda’s feet 
tripped. But the girls seemed to understand why, and 
did not put her out for it. 

As she began to recover from her embarrassment 
they lifted the rope higher; and when they saw that 
she was becoming absorbed in the game and forgetting 
them, they gave harder and harder tests to the little 
feet which jumped so lightly and so truly. 

She was supposed to be -mounting the rounds of an 
invisible ladder, and in accordance with the rules of the 
game, the rope went higher for each jump — higher and 
higher, till Linda sprang so far from the ground that 
the girls held their breath, and the hands that turned 
the rope had to make an effort to be steady. Up she 
sprang again and again, with a pretty, airy motion, 
keeping as perfect time as if she were moved by ma- 
chinery. 

“ She looks like a fairy,” thought Jinnie, peeping at 
her from behind a tree, and in her excitement forget- 
ting her anger. “ She could almost fly, I do believe.” 

Linda’s hair was shaken into disorder, her cheeks 
were flushed, and her eyes looked fixedly beyond the 
girls and seemed to see nothing near. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


167 

“ She ’s a queer girl,” reflected Jinnie. “ I wonder 
what she ’s looking at. Hope she does n’t see me; but 
she does n’t look as if she saw anything.” 

“ I never knew any one make such a high ladder,” 
whispered Daisy to Fanny. 

“She’ll never get up another round,” thought 
Jinnie. 

But the next spring took Linda still higher. 

“ It ’s enough to kill her,” reflected Jinnie. “Some- 
body ought to stop her.” 

But still another spring carried Linda to a height 
which called forth a murmur of applause from the spec- 
tators. 

Jinnie saw how the color was deepening in Linda’s 
cheeks, and how she began to catch her breath. 

“ It is very dangerous,” thought she. “ Why do n’t 
they stop her ?” 

Instead of that a little clamor arose, urging her to 
even greater efforts. 

“ I can’t speak to her, not if she kills herself,” 
thought Jinnie, really distressed, as she saw that Linda 
in her enthusiasm was straining every nerve to its ut- 
most. “ I ’ll have to let her jump on if she goes to the 
tree-tops and bursts her bloodvessels ; but I should 
think those new friends of hers might save her life for 
her.” 

But at last, after a great leap and a roar of applause, 
Linda did stop, with her hand on her side and her 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


1 68 

breath going and coming at altogether too rapid a rate. 
She dropped down on the grass; somebody offered 
her a large hat for a fan ; and she received the girls’ 
praises silently, as she sat and recovered her strength 
for another exploit. 

“What a fuss they are making over her,” thought 
Jinnie. “ They ’re not afraid of each other any longer; 
they are all the best of friends now, and / did it. I 
told the girls how splendidly she jumped, and how 
sweet she was, and how much I loved her. I took her 
over there to jump rope and to make friends with the 
girls; and there she is with all of them praising and 
petting her ; and here I am, all alone, hiding behind a 
tree. That is just the way things go. I ’ll never do 
anything for anybody again. I never saw anything so 
ungrateful as some people I know. She need n’t talk 
at me in that goody way. She need n’t put on such airs 
before all the girls. She need n’t think she ’s so much 
better than I am. I ’ll never forgive her. I wont have 
her for my most intimate friend any more. I ’ll have 
Daisy Webster again. I do n’t care for her.” 

But Jinnie found Linda worth watching as she rose 
and went towards the rope. 

“ Oh, they ’re only going to rock the cradle,” said 
Jinnie. “ I ’m glad they know enough not to try ‘ Hot 
Peppers’ now she’s so tired with ‘Jacob’s Ladder.’ ” 

In “ Rock the Cradle ” they swang the rope back 
and forth near the ground, not throwing it over Linda’s 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 169 

head at all, so that she gave satisfaction without any 
great exertion. 

They tried “ High Waters” next; and after a mo- 
ment’s rest, it was Linda whom they called out again. 

“ Not another girl jumping this recess,” said Jinnie. 
“ You ’d think she was the only girl in school. I never 
saw anything like it.” 

“ High Waters ” required more skill both on the 
part of those who turned the rope and those who 
jumped it, for it must always escape the ground, and it 
was hard for rope and feet not to become entangled in 
such circumstances. However, the rope swung around 
and around, just escaping the ground, as long as Linda 
cared to follow it. 

Once more she paused suddenly, with her hand on 
her side and her breath coming and going too fast. 

“ Now I hope she ’s through,” reflected Jinnie. “ I 
do n’t know what her aunt would say if she could see 
her. She wouldn’t think I was taking very good care 
of her.” 

But no one else seemed inclined to try “ High Wa- 
ters,” although Linda declared she was too tired to 
jump any more. 

“ I ’m glad she knows enough to know she ’s tired,” 
said Jinnie. 

“Who wants to jump next? Linda is tired,” said 
Janie Crane. 

“O Linda, couldn’t you just give us ‘Hot Pep- 


22 


170 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


pers’?” said Fanny. “That is the very thing Jinnie 
was telling us about. She said you did it so splen- 
didly.” 

“ Oh yes, Linda, do try Hot Peppers,” said Dora 
King. 

“Well, it’ll kill her if she does, that’s all,” thought 
Jinnie, in despair. 

“ Somebody else ought to jump now,” said Linda. 

But she was recovering her breath and her ambi- 
tion; she was not unwilling to try Hot Peppers if they 
should urge her. 

“ The bell will ring before long,” said Minnie Barry. 
“Wont you, please, Linda? You’re the best jumper 
I ever saw.” 

That was enough for Linda. She had w'on so 
many laurels that she longed for still more. She 
would not mind that little warning hammer going at 
such a rapid rate in her left side ; she would not mind 
that her cheeks burned and her feet ached ; she would 
show the girls what she could do ; she would win the 
fame for which her heart yearned. 

It was a long time since she had tasted the pleas- 
ures of fame. She could not remember having just 
this same feeling since a day last summer when she 
read a poem on “ Death ” to Polly, and Polly shed 
tears. This was not as lofty a renown as that to which 
she had been accustomed, of course. One would rath- 
er receive the tribute of a silent tear for the labor of 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


171 

one’s brain than mere noisy applause for victories won 
by agile feet. But, after all, glory is glory ; and Linda 
was very glad to take what she could get in that way. 

She marched forth from her seat under the tree like 
the conqueror of armies, eager for her next battefield 
and triumph. If she remembered a warning of her 
mother’s against an old temptation of hers to jump too 
long and too violently, she had gone so far now that 
she could not stop to heed it. Perhaps the very fear 
that she might heed it before she had won her laurels 
quickened her footsteps. 

Jinnie had been seated comfortably, curled into a 
very small heap behind the tree, with her skirts tucked 
tightly under her feet, so that they should not betray 
her hiding-place. But when Linda began to jump 
again she rose, and did not stop to think whether she 
was seen or not. She had risen with some idea of 
going to Linda, reminding her that she was under her 
charge during her aunt’s absence, and forbidding her 
to jump another moment. But no sooner was she on 
her feet than she realized that it was impossible to do 
anything of the sort. 

“ I can’t go there and speak to her now we ’re ene- 
mies,” reflected Jinnie; “but if I were her friend, as 
those girls pretend to be, I would n’t let her jump an- 
other moment. Her face is dreadfully red, and she 
can hardly get her breath. O dear! I wish the bell 
would ring, so that she ’d have to stop.” 


172 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


But the bell did not ring, and Linda was perform- 
ing marvellous feats of swiftness. If there had really- 
been hot peppers on the ground burning her toes as 
she touched them, she could hardly have lifted her feet 
more quickly and jumped more rapidly. The rope 
flew around at such speed that one could hardly tell 
that it was a rope. 

All the girls were wondering and admiring. Linda 
was catching her breath, but growing more eager and 
ambitious, when suddenly a gruff voice startled per- 
former and spectators. 

“ I heard of a girl dying of hot peppers,” said the 
voice. “ She dropped dead in a minute.” 

Jinnie looked as stern and solemn as if she were 
expecting the tragedy to be repeated on their play- 
ground. 

Somebody was going to be frightened and beg 
Linda to stop, but just then somebody else began to 
laugh, and in a moment all the girls were laughing. 

Linda stopped jumping ; and though the girls 
begged her to go on, when she saw Jinnie going away 
more angry than she had been before, she ran after 
her. 

But she was repulsed again. 

“ I should think you would know better than to 
jump so long,” said Jinnie. “What would your aunt 
say? You can hardly get your breath. I wouldn’t 
have spoken to you, only I could n’t stand there and 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


173 


see you killing yourself. Before I knew it I ran out 
and told you about that girl. My aunt Jane said a 
cousin of her cousin’s told her it was true, too.” 

“I know I ought not to have jumped so long,” said 
Linda, gasping for breath and pressing her hand to her 
side. “ Mamma never likes to have me. It was very 
kind of you to stop me, Jinnie.” 

“ All the thanks I get for doing anything for you 
is to have your friends laugh at me,” said Jinnie 
gruffly. 

“I didn’t laugh at you,” said Linda; “and the 
girls are all your friends a thousand times more than 
mine, so I should n’t think you ’d mind.” 

“ They ’re as much your friends as ever they were 
mine,” said Jinnie. “ I heard them all praising you, 
and saw how you smiled at each other as if you ’d- been 
intimate for ever. They knew how intimate I was with 
you, and of course they thought you did n’t like me 
any more when you snubbed me before them all.” 

“ I snubbed you ?” said Linda. 

“ Oh, did n’t you tell Minnie it was her turn, after 
I ’d taken the trouble to get you in first ?” 

“ Well, it was her turn,” said Linda ; “ and I never 
thought of such a thing as snubbing you. I did n’t 
think anything about it anyway. I couldn’t have 
jumped before Minnie — that’s all there is of it; and I 
think you’re very disagreeable, Jinnie. You’re just 
trying to quarrel.” 


174 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“Oh, well,” said Jinnie, “if you don’t want to be 
intimate friends any more, I do n’t care.” 

They had been walking towards the schoolhouse 
all this time, as the bell had rung for recess to come to 
an end. The girls who were following thought there 
must have been a reconciliation, until at the door they 
saw Jinnie toss her head, shrug her shoulders, and 
walk away. 

“ Never mind,” whispered Daisy to Linda. “ She ’ll 
get over it soon.” — 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


175 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

But Linda did mind Jinnie’s coolness when it lasted 
all through that day and the next, and seemed as if it 
was going to last for ever. Jinnie had seen her mis- 
take long ago ; she knew that Linda had not meant to 
rebuke her, as soon as her anger cooled. But she was 
too proud to acknowledge how angry and unreason- 
able she had been. Besides, Linda had so many new 
friends that Jinnie said to herself perhaps Linda did 
not care for her any more ; perhaps she did not miss 
the old friend now. Linda had been repulsed twice 
when she tried to be reconciled, so she did not make a 
third attempt; and the pride on both sides kept the 
friends apart for several days. 

Meanwhile Jinnie had become intimate with Daisy 
again, and Linda had many friends. Her gentle ways 
attracted the girls, and she seemed to have plunged 
into familiar acquaintance with them all on the day 
when she first jumped rope. 

Since that day everything had gone well with Lin- 
da, except where Jinnie was concerned. She had quite 
overcome her tendency to dream in school. At first 
she had a few hard battles ; but now she was so inter- 
ested in her lessons that she did not even care to 


176 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


dream. She longed to know what was coming next in 
her books, and would sometimes have made herself ill 
learning lessons for two or three successive days if 
auntie and Miss Davies had not interfered. She was 
becoming interested in her music, too, and growing 
fonder of auntie all the time ; so that if little things had 
not sometimes overwhelmed her suddenly and made 
her heart ache for those she loved best, she would have 
thought that she w^as conquering her homesickness 
very well. 

But they were much better days than the first in 
the new life and strange country. Every morning 
Linda could say with greater faith, “ I will fear no evil, 
for thou art with me and every evening she thanked 
the Good Shepherd more sincerely for his kind care of 
the stray lamb that day. She liked to think of her 
Heavenly Father as the Good Shepherd in whose fold 
she was safe ; she liked to think of all the pleasant 
things which happened to her during the day as still 
waters by which he led her, and of the rest and peace 
that came to her heart at night as the green pastures 
in which he bade her lie down. 

By the still waters and in the green pastures Linda 
learned to say from her own experience, “ The Lord is 
my Shepherd ; I shall not want for those wants which 
she had thought so many and so great on the first 
dreary night away from home, were being supplied — 
except one that must always ache until she put her 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


177 


arms around her mother’s neck again. Nothing else 
could quite cure the pain of that longing. Every even- 
ing must bring back wistful thoughts of home. She 
must always wonder, as the darkness came, who was 
putting Polly to bed and singing baby’s restlessness 
away, who was telling Tommy a story, who was run- 
ning to wait on tired mamma and bringing papa his 
slippers. 

Only a return to the fold could give the little wan- 
derer perfect rest ; and yet in her wanderings she had 
found a treasure. It was the very want which remained 
unsatisfied that had brought her the greatest blessing. 
She never knew how God could comfort a lonely little 
heart until her own grew lonely ; it was not until she 
missed the love on which she had always leaned that 
her Lord’s love seemed real and near to her like her 
mother’s ; not until she left her pleasant pastures that 
she found the peace and comfort always abiding in his 
larger fold. 

She was reading in the parlor one evening when 
she came to the verse, 

“ Oh, little child, be still and rest — 

He sweetly sleeps 
Whom Jesus keeps — 

And in the morning wake so blest, 

His child to be. 

Love every one, but love him best ; 

He first loved thee.” 


23 


78 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


Linda knew the truth of the words from her own 
sweet sleep and happy wakings, and she repeated the 
verse till she had learned it. She thought she would 
like to say it sometimes at night, and that it would be 
well to remember the last two lines at any time. Now 
that she had learned to love her Heavenly Father in the 
same way that she loved those friends whom she could 
see, she wanted him always to seem like a real person 
to her ; she hoped he would never seem far off again, 
and that she should love him best who was her first 
and best friend. 

She was repeating the last two lines again, as a 
sort of charge to her heart, when auntie saw her lips 
moving. 

“ Are you studying ?” she said. “ That is forbid- 
den.” 

“ I was only learning a little verse,” said Linda. 

“ I hope it is a very little one,” said auntie ; “ for I 
know you have all your lessons for to-morrow, and you 
have studied quite enough to-night.” 

“ Here it is,” said Linda, giving auntie the book. 

“It is a pretty verse, isn’t it?” said auntie. 

“Yes,” said Linda. “I thought I would like to 
know it to say sometimes at night. Those things put 
me to sleep sometimes when I get thinking and lie 
awake.” 

“ Why, you talk like an old woman,” said auntie. 
“ I did n’t know that little girls without any cares or 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


79 


troubles ever lay awake. I supposed that they went 
to sleep as easily as the birds and chickens. How long 
do you toss on your pillow, my darling, and what do 
you think about ?” 

“ I think about mamma and home,” said Linda. 

She had never come so near making a confession 
of her homesickness before. 

“ That looks rather suspicious,” said auntie. “ I ’m 
afraid your heart is all left behind you, Linda.” 

“No, not all of it,” said Linda. 

“ Did you bring a little bit for auntie ?” 

“Indeed I did — a good big piece,” said Linda, 
throwing her arms around her neck. 

“ You like it here better than you did at first, don’t 
you, darling ?” said auntie. 

“ I love you dearly,” said Linda, “ and I love the 
girls and the school and my lessons and my music.” 

“ I am so glad you are contented,” said auntie, 
looking straight into Linda’s eyes, with a gratified 
smile. 

She saw nothing in the little girl’s eyes to contra- 
dict her words, nothing which could betray that she 
was not contented, although a moment ago Linda had 
been ready to confess the truth. 

She had said that she loved auntie and the girls 
and the school; but auntie had spoken just in time to 
prevent Linda’s also telling her that she loved her own 
mamma better than all, and that if she did not mind 


i8o OUT OF THE FOLD. 

she would like to give up every new pleasure to go 
back to the dear old life at home. 

Often since auntie and Linda had grown to be on 
such fond and familiar terms, Linda had felt tempted to 
open her heart. It was as easy now to talk freely to 
auntie as to Jinnie, or any little girl of her own age; 
and when evening brought visions of home and a 
heartache, she felt as if she could pour out the story of 
her discontent, of her longings, that would return with 
the darkness; as if she could bear to be laughed at, 
perhaps despised a little, if only auntie would give her 
permission to go home. 

But in the morning she was sure to be ashamed of 
the weakness which had so nearly overcome her; she 
could see then how ungrateful her confession would 
have seemed ; and she always determined to be quite 
happy in return for the kindness she received. 

It was evening now, however, and with her arms 
around auntie’s neck she had never been so near tell- 
ing her the secret. But when auntie turned toward 
her with such a happy look, saying she was glad she 
was contented, Linda resolved again to conquer her 
discontent, or else keep it hidden bravely from those 
loving eyes searching her face for the truth. 

“ Did you ever lie awake at home ?” said auntie. 

“ Sometimes,” said Linda. 

“But you didn’t have mamma to miss and think 
about then.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


i8i 


“No,” said Linda, laughing; “but I used to miss 
other things. I used to wish I could go to school and 
take music lessons, and have plenty of time to read 
and to write poetry.” 

“And now that you have all the things you used 
to want, you want all the things you used to have.” 

“ Yes,” said Linda, thinking that here was another 
opportunity to confess. 

In the stillness of the little parlor she could almost 
hear the merry shouts of the children’s voices at home. 
In the lonely room she could almost feel them around 
her again ; she could remember what it was to be as 
merry as the rest, and have no burden hidden away in 
the corner of her heart. 

Should she tell auntie that the things she used to 
have were worth more than all the things she used 
to want ? that love with nothing else was worth more 
than everything else without love ? Should she con- 
fess that she had grown wise under her roof, and 
learned that books, music, and hosts of new friends 
were of less value than the blessing of a mother’s 
presence ? 

No, she was still determined to keep her secret ; 
but she might have suspected that auntie, in her long 
experience, had learned some of the wise truths which 
she was just discovering; and if she had read aright the 
face watching hers, she might also have suspected that 
auntie knew more of her heart than she had been told. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


182 

“ It is a good thing to have contentment every- 
where ; is n’t it, Linda ?” said auntie. 

“ Yes,” said Linda’s lips. “ Yes,” said her heart, 
“ it is a good thing to have contentment; and I must 
make the best of what I have, and not want what I 
can’t have any more. I will be contented; or if I can’t, 
I will never tell anybody. I will never, never speak of 
it except when I say my prayers.” 

With that resolve Linda drew nearer in heart to 
the only Friend who should ever hear her secret. 

“ I used to dream, too, at night,” she said, pursuing 
the same subject on which they had been talking — “ I 
mean before I went to sleep. I used to lie awake and 
dream that I went to school, and played beautiful mu- 
sic on the piano, and that I had a big room full of 
books, and could sit and read a long time without any 
one to disturb me. Then I used to dream that I had 
a microscope, and could see everything in the flowers 
and water ; and I used to find the loveliest things you 
ever heard of — little worlds with people in them ; and 
one time I thought I found a great big wood, full of 
flowers and trees and fountains and fairies and mer- 
maids, all in a piece of moss. That dream began 
when I was awake, and ended when I was asleep, for I 
thought it was all true about the fairies and mermaids. 
Oh, you do n’t know how lovely it was, auntie.” 

“ Dreams are sometimes lovelier than realities,” 
said auntie. “ People often have reason to be sorry 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 183 

when their dreams come true. It quite spoils them, 
Linda.” 

“ Oh, I wonder if she can mean me,” thought 
Linda. 

“You saw all those things through a piece of glass 
that you only thought you saw,” said auntie. “There 
was no glass at all.” 

“ No,” said Linda. 

“ What a gift such an imagination is to a little girl,” 
said auntie. “ When you were wishing for the micro- 
scope I wonder if you ever thought of being thankful 
for the imagination that could give you so much pleas- 
ure without it.” 

“ I do n’t believe I ever did,” said Linda. “ I w^as 
always thinking how much better the real thing would 
be.” 

“So all your dreams have come true except that 
one,” said auntie. “You have the school, the music, 
the books, the quiet and leisure, everything but the 
microscope.” 

“ I used to dream of fame too,” said Linda. 

“ Fame ?” said auntie, with a laugh. 

“ Oh, yes, I cared more for that than for anything 
else. I used to write poetry, you know, auntie.” 

“Did you, indeed?” said auntie. “No, I didn’t 
know it. I must confess my ignorance with shame. 
How is it that I have never seen any of your poems ? 
I might have been proud of my namesake.” 


1 84 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“That sounds like papa. You are making fun,” 
said Linda, pinching her cheek. 

“ Well, tell me about the poetry and those dearest 
dreams. What did you write about ?” 

“ About ‘ Life,’ and ‘ The Stars,’ and ‘ A Dead 
Chicken,’ and ‘ Death,’ and ‘ Disappointment,’ and 
‘ My Pretty Plaything ’ — oh, ever so many more. 
Those are just a few.” 

“And you used to think you would like to be 
great ?” 

“Yes,” said Linda. “ I would love to have every- 
body read what I wrote, and praise me. I would like 
to make people cry — ” 

“ Why, what a little savage !” 

“ Oh, the* tears would n’t hurt,” said Linda. “ I 
like to cry over lovely things in books. It is n’t a bit 
like crying for things that really happen.” 

“ Isn’t it?” said auntie. 

“ And I would make them laugh too ; but I ’d rath- 
er make them cry. Oh, I wish I could be famous. 
But I ’m afraid I ’ve lost my gift, auntie. I never write 
any more poetry. I do n’t know why I ’ve stopped 
dreaming it. It never comes into my head now.” 

“ Perhaps it will some day,” said auntie. “ Per- 
haps the microscope and the fame will both come to 
you. Then your dreams will all be fulfilled. What 
shall you do after that? You will have to begin and 
dream some new ones.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


185 

“ If she only guessed the new one that I dream all 
the time,” thought Linda. “ If she only knew that my 
best dream — and the very best I ever had in my life — 
is to see mamma again ! Oh, how I would jump across 
the room if I saw her coming in that door ! Oh, what 
a hug I would give her !” 

“ You will have an opportunity to become famous 
when you begin to write compositions,” said auntie. 

“ I have never written prose,” said Linda. “ I ’m 
afraid I can’t do it at all.” 

“ I fancy I shall like you better in prose than in 
poetry,” said auntie. 

“You’re laughing at me, I know you are,” said 
Linda. 

“The sand man has been after you for the last ten 
minutes,” said auntie. “ Those eyelids can hardly 
hold themselves up. I prophesy that you wont lie 
awake to-night. Now kiss me and go.” 

But, although Linda was very sleepy, no sooner 
was her head on the pillow than she began to think. 
She remembered the new verse she had ‘ learned, and 
was soon losing all consciousness of home and home- 
sickness as she repeated the words, 

“ ‘ Oh, little child, be still and rest — 

He sweetly sleeps 
Whom Jesus keeps.’ ” 


24 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


1 86 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ I don’t care,” said Linda to auntie at breakfast; 
“ if Jinnie does n’t want to make up, she need n’t.” 

“ I wonder why she does n’t forgive and forget,” 
said auntie. “ It would be like her.” 

“She knows I didn’t mean to do anything that 
day,” said Linda, “only she is too proud to say so.” 

“Are you sure you are not a little proud too?” 
said auntie. 

On the way to school Linda thought of auntie’s 
question, and wondered if she could be at all to blame 
for the coolness between herself and her friend. No 
one had suggested it to her before, and she had heard 
so much about “Jinnie’s freaks,” that it had not oc- 
curred to her she herself could be wrong. 

It was a rainy morning, and she was walking to 
school under a little silk umbrella which auntie had 
given her a few days before. 

“ School is a very bad place for umbrellas,” auntie 
had said; “so I will embroider your initials inside, 
and perhaps if it gets lost it will come back to you.” 

Linda’s thoughts had gone from her quarrel with 
Jinnie to the pretty scarlet initials B. B. which were 
just in a line with her eyes. She was admiring the 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


187 


rustic pattern in which they were worked when she 
heard a familiar voice startling her as usual with its 
abrupt greeting and loud tones. 

“Wont you put your umbrella down and come 
under mine, Jinnie, so that we can walk together?” 
said Linda in a very friendly manner. She was think- 
ing of auntie’s question, and felt conscious that she had 
worn rather a proud and injured air with Jinnie of 
late. 

Jinnie immediately accepted the invitation ; but she 
was hardly under Linda’s umbrella when she saw 
Daisy Webster’s coming around the corner. 

“ Oh, there ’s Daisy !” she said, and without anoth- 
er word jumped out into the rain, and ran to Daisy for 
shelter. 

“Good-morning, Linda,” said Daisy. “Come the 
other side of me, and we ’ll all walk together.” 

“No, there isn’t room for another,” said Linda 
rather haughtily. 

“She’s mad,” said Jinnie in one of her loud whis- 
pers. “Jealous !” 

“What a very disagreeable girl she is!” thought 
Linda, fastening her eyes on the scarlet initials again. 

But she could see the two friends quite as plainly 
as she saw the letters. She could see them whispering, 
with their arms around each other, holding the umbrel- 
la together, and behaving in every way like most inti- 
mate friends. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


1 88 

She did not hear Daisy saying, “ I do n’t think you 
are very nice to her, Jinnie,” and Jinnie replying “ She 
is n’t nice to me, that ’s the reason. She ’s so stiff and 
airy all the time that I do n’t know how to make up.” 

Perhaps if she had known just what they were 
saying she could have helped Jinnie to make up im- 
mediately; but she imagined that they were renewing 
their old intimacy, with the intention of leaving her 
out in the cold ; and became more dignified than 
before. 

“ Wont you come and walk with us, Linda?” asked 
Daisy again. 

“ No, thank you,” said Linda. 

“ She is such a sweet little girl,” whispered Daisy ; 
“but she does seem rather stiff to you.” 

“They’re talking about me; but I don’t care,” 
thought Linda. 

“ Oh, everybody thinks she ’s so sweet,” said Jinnie. 
“ I ’m getting tired of hearing how sweet she is. I 
wish she ’d try being sweet to me.” 

“You ought to make up,” said Daisy gravely. 
“ It is very wrong for two such friends not to have a 
reconciliation. Do you remember the quarrel we had 
once, Jinnie?” 

“Do n’t I ?” said Jinnie. “ That’s the biggest one 
I ever had in my life. How we screamed at each 
other!” 

“ And slapped,” said Daisy. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


189 


“And stamped our feet and called names.” 

“ But we made it up in half an hour.” 

“ We had a lovely reconciliation,” said Jinnie with 
a sigh. 

“ It is so easy to make up a big, noisy fight,” said 
Daisy. 

“And so hard to make up a little still one like 
Linda’s and mine,” said Jinnie. 

“ But then it can be done,” said Daisy; “ and ought 
to be brought about in some way. Suppose I could 
manage to reconcile you. Oh what fun !” 

If Linda could only have overheard the conversa- 
tion her face would have been all smiles and peace at 
the schoolroom door. But instead of imagining that 
Jinnie’s old friend was generously trying to reconcile 
her to the new, Linda firmly believed that Daisy was 
trying to win her way back to that first place in Jinnie’s 
affections from which she had driven her. 

She looked so proud and stately when they turned 
to go into the schoolhouse that even Daisy felt pro- 
voked, and did not think she was quite the sweetest 
girl she had ever known. 

It was impossible for Jinnie to resist teasing Linda 
when she was in one of her serious moods; and al- 
though she longed to be reconciled now, this extreme 
dignity was too much for her. 

It happened that both umbrellas tried to close at 
the same time on the schoolhouse steps, and that 


190 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


instead of either one succeeding the two knocked 
together and nearly flew out of their owners’ hands. 

“ What a nice umbrella,” said Daisy to Linda. 

“ With your initials worked on it,” said Jinnie. 

“ B. B. I thought your name was just Linda,” said 
Daisy. “ Is there more of it?” 

Linda had become rather sensitive on the subject 
of her old-fashioned name since Jinnie made fun of it, 
and she was in just the mood now, to suspect Daisy of 
alluding to it deliberately ; so she answered nothing. 

“ What ’s the matter, Linda ?” said Daisy. “ Are 
you mad at me ?” 

“ She does n’t want to tell you her name,” answered 
Jinnie. 

“ My name is Belinda Barto,” came in a stately 
manner from a very queenly little person who was 
taking off her hat in the corner of the cloak-room. 

“‘My name is Norval,’” recited Jinnie with much 
pomposity, “‘on the Grampian hills my father feeds 
his flock.’ ” 

Daisy was just enough annoyed not to interfere. 
She would have checked Jinnie if she had not thought 
the queen needed taking down. 

“ B. B. stands for Busy Bee,” said Jinnie, examining 
Linda’s umbrella, “or buzzing bee, or biting bee, I 
don’t know which. Why don’t you say something 
horrid, Linda, instead of looking at me as if you 
thought I was a worm ?” 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


191 

Linda neither said anything nor looked at any one 
after that. She went directly to the schoolroom, with 
a turmoil of grief and anger in her heart which she was 
very wise not to put into words. 

“ There,” said Jinnie, “ everything worse than ever! 
If she ’d only talk things out, or fight them out, like 
other people, we might get over them. But now I 
suppose it’ll go on for ever.” 

“What made you tease her? it’s all your own 
fault,” said Daisy, rather regretting she had not im- 
proved her opportunity to make peace. 

“Oh, everything’s always my own fault,” said Jin- 
nie, sighing. “ I can’t help being horrid.” 

Linda did not look up when Jinnie came in and sat 
down beside her. She had opened her arithmetic to 
study the rules once more before recitation, and her 
lips were buzzing over the words so rapidly that Jinnie 
could not help thinking of a busy bee. 

“ You ’re the only girl studying in the room,” said 
she, with kind intentions. “ Let ’s play tit-tat-too till 
the bell rings, Linda. You ’ll kill yourself studying so 
hard.” 

Linda had not recovered from the scene in the 
cloak-room as quickly as Jinnie; it was impossible for 
her to speak quite naturally and pleasantly ; so she did 
not speak at all, but kept buzzing over a rule. 

“ ‘ How doth the little busy bee 
Improve each shining hour,’ ” 


192 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


sang Jinnie, in a funny, drawling tone that made all the 
girls laugh. 

The laughter was good-natured, but it hurt Linda, 
and she kept her eyes fastened on the book and her 
lips moving. 

“ I do n’t believe she heard a word we ’re saying,” 
said Dora King. “ She ’s buried in that horrid old 
arithmetic and seems to enjoy it. I wish I loved to 
study the way Linda does. Busy Bee is a good name 
for her.” 

“ Why, it is her name,” said Jinnie. “ Didn’t you 
know that ? Look at the initials worked on her um- 
brella, if you do n’t believe me. It is all there in plain, 
bright red.” 

Before their quarrel Linda had rather liked to have 
Jinnie call her Bee. It was her own special name for 
her, and she used it in various endearing ways; but 
now she used it in such a variety of unpleasant ways 
that Linda hated it, and wished she had never been 
christened Belinda for her auntie. 

“ Buzz, buzz, buzz !” said Jinnie, imitating the mo- 
tion of Linda’s lips, but the noise was so like that of a 
bee on the wing that the girls laughed again. Nothing 
is easier than to make girls laugh, as Jinnie knew, and 
she enjoyed trying her power over them. 

“ ‘ And gather sweetness all the day 
From every opening flower,’ ” 


she sang. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


m 


“ Do you gather sweetness from that flower you ’re 
buzzing over, little bee ? Is there honey in your arith- 
metic ? I wish I could find some in mine ?” 

The laughter continued ; none of the girls except 
Daisy suspected any malice back of Jinnie’s mirth; 
most of them believed that Linda was so buried in her 
book as to hear nothing ; while Jinnie alone knew that 
she heard every word, and was very uncomfortable, 
though she looked so indifferent. It was cruel to say 
anything more; but Jinnie had become perfectly reck- 
less ; her tongue had reached that state where it could 
not stop ; and Linda’s injured dignity drove her on to 
see how much she could tease her. 

“ Why do n’t you speak, B. B. ?” she said. “ Can’t 
you answer polite questions ? Oh, you ’re the queen 
bee, and we ’re nothing but the workers. Of course 
you can’t talk to us. Would n’t she look pretty pran- 
cing around under a crown and waving us all about 
with her sceptre ?” 

Holding her head high, and mocking Linda’s 
haughty expression with a curl of her lip, Jinnie 
marched down the aisle, using her arm for a sceptre, 
which sent the girls flying to right and left with merry 
shouts. 

“ I ’ll never, never forgive her,” thought Linda. 
“ I ’ll tell auntie how disagreeable she is when I get 
home.” 

In spite of those thoughts Linda felt much more 

25 


194 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


like crying over her wrongs than avenging them. But 
she knew so well that that would only give Jinnie an- 
other opportunity to tease her, she remembered so 
many of Jinnie’s jests about her “weeping eyes,” that 
she struggled to keep back the rising tears ; and fortu- 
nately the bell rang before they could come and dis- 
grace her. 

During the calling of the roll and reading of the 
Bible Linda was hardly conscious of anything but a 
tumult in her breast. She would have thought it a 
tumult of just anger if something in the Lord’s Prayer 
had not suddenly shown her that it was unjust revenge. 
“ Vengeance is mine ; I will repay, saith the Lord.” 
Those words came into her mind, although she could 
hardly have told one word of the long chapter they 
had just been reading. 

She knew that she had no right to repay Jinnie’s 
unkindness. If she needed punishment, God would 
punish her. It was his right, not hers ; she must for- 
give. It almost frightened her because she could not 
ask that her trespasses might be forgiven as she for- 
gave those who trespassed against her. 

The words put an end to her plans for vengeance, 
but they did not take away her anger. How could 
they, when she had such cause to be angry? She 
might not avenge her wrongs ; but how could she for- 
give? 

While Linda felt so helpless, she remembered that 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


195 


God was able to work wonders in a little girl’s heart, 
and that impulses beyond her control could be easily 
managed by him. Then she asked him to make her 
forgive Jinnie, so that she might be able to say that 
prayer which he taught his disciples long ago must 
ascend to him from a true heart. 

vAs she went to arithmetic-class, the determination 
to be forgiving showed itself in her face. Her very 
desire to feel pleasantly towards Jinnie gave her a 
pleasant expression, which took away Jinnie’s longing 
to tease her, and made her choose some one else for 
her next victim. 


196 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER XX. 

There was a knock at the door ; one of the girls 
opened it, and Miss Davies went outside to speak, to 
somebody. 

“ ‘ Shut, little door,’ ” said Jinnie, rising and bowing 
politely to the door which Miss Davies closed after 
her. “ Young ladies, that makes me think of a story.” 

“ Oh, tell it ! tell it !” said a dozen at once. 

“ Hush ! If I hear another word or a giggle I shall 
immediately sit down. There was once an old castle 
lying in ruins, and in the old days robbers used to hide 
the bodies of men whom they murdered for their money 
in its cellars and vaults, and their ill-gotten gains in the 
deep caverns all around it. Linda, how big your eyes 
look. Are you interested ?” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Linda. 

“Do go on,” said Fanny Fothergill. “Miss Da- 
vies will come back.” 

But Jinnie drew long breaths again and again, as if 
she were exhausted ; for the whole pleasure of story- 
telling to her was witnessing her power over the girls. 
She loved to watch their eager looks, and feel that she 
could tease them with every moment added to their 
suspense. Their delight was in the thread of the story, 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


197 


hers in the sudden breaks. But as she felt rather ten- 
derly towards Linda at present, on account of the 
sweet face which she had turned upon her tormentor, 
she shortened the suspense in answer to the appeal in 
Linda’s eyes. 

“ The robbers expected to bring these treasures 
forth whenever they wanted them, and have a good 
time enjoying the poor dead men’s wealth; but one 
day they met the fate they deserved, for all the princes 
in the country banded together and came down upon 
the robber band and put an end to them.” 

Suddenly Jinnie dropped down in her seat, for she 
had detected the sound of a latch before ears less keen 
heard anything. She was famous for her stories, and 
her story-telling mood always seemed to come with 
rainy days ; so that each girl who looked out of the 
window and saw the dark sky and steadily-falling rain 
eagerly anticipated recess. It would be too unpleasant 
for them to go out; and Jinnie, whether in a compliant 
mood or not, would probably be so anxious to talk that 
they could persuade her to finish the story. However, 
she was not to be depended upon, and might feel in- 
clined to disappoint them. 

But the moment the bell rang Daisy, having re- 
ceived a hint from the others, said indifferently, 

“ Come, Jinnie, you had better go on with your 
story right away, or you wont finish it this recess.” 

‘‘Had I ?” said Jinnie, preparing to eat an apple. 


198 


OUT OF I'HE FOLD, 


“ Oh, don’t be disagreeable,” said Dora King, who 
was not noted for her patience. 

“ Come, Jinnie, that’s a dear,” said Minnie Barry 
coaxingly. 

But it was the petition in Linda’s eyes which Jinnie 
answered. Her heart was still soft from those forgiv- 
ing glances she had received. 

“ Where did I leave off?” she said. 

“ The princes had just put an end to the robbers,” 
answered Linda promptly. 

“ Oh, yes. Well, after that neither princes nor 
common men could find the robbers’ hidden treasures. 
They found plenty of bones, but no money ; for they 
had taken greater care to hide their treasures than the 
bodies of the murdered men. This story was written 
by — let me see, what was the man’s name ?” 

“ Oh, who cares ?” said Katie Crow. 

“ I must think of his name before I can go on,” said 
Jinnie. 

“ Nobody wants to know his name, Jinnie,” said 
Minnie. 

“You’re mistaken. I do, very much,” Jinnie an- 
swered. “ It is from the German. Now what was that 
old German called ?” 

“ Hans ?” suggested Daisy. 

“Carl?” “Fritz?” “Wilhelm?” “Peter?” “Paul?” 
were all shouted at Jinnie, and all answered with 
“No.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


199 

“ It ’s his last name I ’m after all this time,” said 
Jinnie. 

“ Is n’t it Schmidt ?” asked Linda, in a weary tone. 

“Oh, no; it’s Otmar,” said Jinnie, smiling at Lin- 
da, “ Mr. Otmar. And now I am coming to an adven- 
ture.” 

There was something thrilling in the way she said 
“adventure.” The word was full of wild and delight- 
ful suggestions that caused each little pulse to beat 
faster. Jinnie’s eyes and voice did as much as the 
plot itself for her stories. They were one thing read 
out of a book, and quite another told in her deep, 
changing tones, with her big eyes rolling here and 
there and making each girl she looked at feel as if 
every word must be true. 

“ Please tell us about the adventure,” said Linda 
gently. 

“ With the greatest pleasure, my dear. There was 
a poor woodman. Now what was his name ?” 

“ Oh, call him anything — Tom, Dick, or Harry. 
Do n’t be particular about names,” said Daisy. 

“ By-the-way, his name was not given. The poor 
woodman one evening was cutting a tree down, when 
he saw a gray monk come out of the ruins, then return 
towards the caverns. He stole after him, saw him beat 
upon a rock, heard him say, ‘ Open, little door,’ ‘ Shut, 
little door,’ and in a moment he had entered the cav- 
ern and was lost to sight. If Miss Davies had not shut 


200 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


the door after her when she went into the hall I should 
never have thought of this story.” 

“ Of course not. Go on.” 

“The woodman marked the place, and was sure 
that the robbers’ treasures were to be found there ; so 
one evening he came to the same spot, and tapping 
upon the rock, said, ‘ Open, little door.’ In a moment 
he found himself in a dimly-lighted passage. ‘ Shut, little 
door,’ said he, and it obeyed. Oh, I must eat my apple.” 

“ Divide it,” said Daisy. “ Give us each a piece, or 
you wont finish it this recess. Why, it ’s nearly as big 
as a cabbage.” 

“None to spare,” said Jinnie, putting her teeth lei- 
surely into the large apple. “ I need the whole of it for 
lunch.” 

She had apparently forgotten that she was a story- 
teller with an eager audience around her, and as she 
slowly nibbled looked out of the window with the 
greatest unconcern. Fanny Fothergill was really in- 
dignant. 

“Come, girls,” she said, “let’s have a game of 
‘prison’ in the cloak-room, and leave Jinnie with her 
apple.” 

Jinnie enjoyed her position too well to lose her au- 
dience. She must keep them, though she would pay 
them for their presumption in due time. Raising her 
voice, she said, as if there had been no interruption, 

“Before his astonished eyes lay treasures of the 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


201 


most magnificent description ; jewels beautiful be- 
yond the power of my poor words to tell, and bags 
of gold piled and piled upon each other without num- 
ber. He was a good woodman, and did not wish to 
take what was not his own; but reflected that the 
wealth was as much his as any one else’s, and so put 
in his pocket a few gold pieces with which to buy 
bread for his wife and eight children. He was very 
much afraid that he would never get out to return to 
wife and children ; but he heard a hollow, friendly 
voice saying, ‘Come again,’ and that encouraged him 
to try to escape. ‘ Little door, open ; open, little door,’ 
said he. Again it obeyed the good woodman. ‘ Shut, 
little door,’ he cried, when he was out in the open air ; 
and it shut behind him. 

“ He bought clothes and food for wife and children, 
gave alms to the poor, and the next week went back to 
the cavern. Once more he was admitted, invited by 
the hollow voice to ‘ Come again !’ and allowed to re- 
turn to his home. 

“ At last, after several visits, he began to consider 
himself a rich man, and thought he would like to know 
exactly how much he did possess ; so he went to a rich 
neighbor and borrowed a measure in which to measure 
his gold.” 

“ How splendidly Jinnie is behaving,” thought Fan- 
ny Fothergill. “No more interruptions now. I taught 
her a good lesson !” 


26 


202 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ This neighbor was a miser,” said Jinnie ; “a wick- 
ed man who cheated widows and orphans ; and the 
measure had chinks in it. What use do you suppose 
he made of those chinks ? When he bought corn he 
let it fall through them into his bag, and kept filling it 
up as it fell through, so cheating the salesman. You 
see what a villain he was ; how different from the poor 
woodman, the hero of my story, who thought first of 
his wife and children, and gave liberally to the poor.” 

Jinnie glanced around for a moment on her breath- 
less audience. The room was so still that when she 
stopped speaking there was not a sound to be heard 
except the falling of the rain outside. It was just the 
day for a story. Jinnie felt her power over her listen- 
ers with a thrill of delight. But she made a short 
pause, for it was not part of her plan to tease them with 
pauses now. 

The girls did not object to her resting for one mo- 
ment, as it was quite evident that she needed to take 
breath after talking so rapidly. Fanny Fothergill con- 
gratulated herself again on the lesson she had taught 
Jinnie, and all the audience were proud of their suc- 
cessful strategy, and in good humor with themselves 
and the story-teller. 

“In that measure,” continued Jinnie, observing the 
little rustle of expectation that ran around the circle, 
and then the calm content with which each one settled 
down to hear the rest of the story — “ in that measure, 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


203 


which had been the means of so much wickedness, 
what did the miser discover when it was returned to 
him ? Gold ! Gold was what his greedy eyes saw, 
for some of the woodman’s gold pieces had lodged in 
the chinks, unknown to him. I believe I ’ll change my 
seat,” said Jinnie. “ I think I shall feel better over 
there by Ada.” 

No one objected as she moved into a chair near 
the open space in the centre of the room. 

‘‘The wicked miser, when he saw that gold, be- 
lieved that he had it in his power to ruin the poor 
woodman, and perhaps at the same time to make his 
own fortune. The woodman proved a very timid fel- 
low, as the miser had hoped. He was terrified by 
threats of the rack, and at last told the miser the whole 
story, lest he should have him seized and tortured for 
theft. 

“ The miser was wild with joy, and told the wood- 
man that if he would follow his directions they would 
bring all the treasure safely away; that he should have 
half, and that part should be given to the poor. 

“ The poor, weak woodman could do nothing but 
beg and plead ; but all his entreaties did not move the 
miser, who pictured himself the greatest man in the 
land after getting possession of the hidden wealth. If 
the woodman had been firm and courageous, all might 
have gone well ; but you shall see how even a good 
man may get into great trouble for lack of a little cour- 


204 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


age. At last he yielded, promising to show the miser 
the secret door. He was not quite weak enough to 
ruin himself completely, for nothing would induce him 
to go farther than the door. All the way there the 
miser was thinking greedily that soon the whole treas- 
ure would be his, for he meant to trip the woodman 
into a deep well as soon as he was through using him ; 
and not 4 penny did he intend giving to the poor, I 
can assure you.” 

Jinnie glanced around again. Eager faces, motion- 
less figures, no sound but the rain outside — it was very 
gratifying to an orator approaching the climax. 

“ On and on they went together till they reached 
the cavern, and the woodman, sad and frightened, re- 
vealed the secret which he ought to have kept till his 
dying day. He had been treated too politely by that 
cavern to betray its secrets to wicked misers. But 
he did. The deed was done. The miser walked up 
to the spot. He knocked. He cried, ‘Open, little 
door.’” 

One more glance at her eager, attentive audience, 
and Jinnie leaped from the desk where she was sitting 
into the middle of the room. 

A suspicion entered some of the girls’ minds as she 
walked unconcernedly towards the cloak-room door, 
and said, 

“ I think I ’ll get my umbrella and take a little fresh 
air before recess is over.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


205 


“ Aren’t you going to finish the story?” asked two 
or three together. 

“What story?” said Jinnie, with a sweet, uncon- 
scious look. “ I ’ve nothing to do with stories at pres- 
ent, my dear. I ’m going out for fresh air. Wont some 
of you come? You all look as if you had been shut 
up in the house too long. I am sure you need air.” 

Threats and entreaties did not move Jinnie in the 
least ; she was not to be bribed nor frightened. She 
had punished Fanny and her followers, and succeeded 
in getting off a joke on the whole school, which made 
her perfectly happy as she paced the garden path, her 
umbrella in one hand and her apple in the other. Some 
of the girls watched her from the window, walking back 
and forth, enjoying the apple and the rain, and tipping 
her umbrella so that all might see her bright, trium- 
phant look. 

“ I ’d like to shake her,” said Fanny Fothergill. 

“ I never heard anything so mean,” said Minnie 
Barry, “as to go on to the most interesting part of the 
story, just as if she never thought of stopping before 
she ’d finished.” 

“ I only wish I knew what happened to the miser in 
the cave,” said Dora King. 

“ And to the poor woodman,” said Linda. 

“ You never will know, children,” said Daisy Web- 
ster ; “ so try and make the best of it.” 


2o6 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

JiNNiE continued bright and smiling all the morn- 
ing. It did not seem to trouble her that the other girls 
looked dark and threatening; that she received no 
smiles in return, but glances of cold displeasure, if not 
of actual scorn. All those expressions of ill-feeling 
only showed how deeply she had affected the girls, and 
were proofs of her power. In the first enjoyment of 
her power she could afford to smile at their frowns. 

She went out of the schoolroom humming a gay 
air, when they were dismissed ; she took her little um- 
brella and went skipping off alone, still humming gay- 
ly; she knew that it was wise not to seek companion- 
ship for her walk home, as she believed that even Lin- 
da would scorn the shelter of her umbrella to-day. 

“ By-by, girls. I ’m in a hurry,” she said. 

“ Come here, all of you,” said Fanny Fothergill. 
“ I want to tell you something. Linda, do n’t hurry 
off; and call Janie and Dora back, will you? Here, 
Daisy and Ada.” 

Jinnie, glancing back as she turned the corner, saw 
Fanny in the midst of an excited group. 

“ Let them talk it out and get over it,” said she, 
laughing. “ To-morrow I ’ll fool them again, perhaps.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


207 


But at that very moment they were all determining 
not to “ get over it ” this time. 

“ It has happened once too often,” said Fanny 
Fothergill. “We have let her go too far; she must 
have a lesson.” 

“ She thinks she can rule the whole school,” said 
Janie. 

“ No other girl would dare do what she does,” said 
Ada. 

“ I think she ought to be put down,” said Minnie, 
“ It will do her good.” 

“ And I.” “ And I,” said others. 

Only Daisy and Linda stood silent. Jinnie’s two 
best friends did not at once lift up their voices against 
her; but when called upon to speak, Daisy admitted 
that she thought it would be well to teach her a lesson, 
and Linda said she did n’t know ; it was provoking not 
to have that interesting story finished, but she supposed 
Jinnie only did it for fun. 

“ It was n’t fun for us,” said Fanny Fothergill. “We 
all agree, Linda. Do n’t stand out against us.” 

“ I ’m sure she has teased you enough, Linda,” said 
Daisy. “You ought to know better than any one that 
she deserves a lesson.” 

“ I do n’t care anything about that now,” said Lin- 
da, remembering what a little while it was since she 
had resolved to forgive, as she wished to be forgiven. 

“ You were wild to hear the end of the story, you 


2o8 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


know you were,” said Fanny Fothergill. “I noticed 
your eyes. They looked as if they were going to pop 
out of your head, you were so excited.” 

“ I do n’t believe there was a girl in the school more 
disappointed than you, Linda,” said Daisy. “ It was 
certainly very unkind for Jinnie to treat her two best 
friends in that way, whatever you may think of the 
other girls. You must help us to teach her a lesson.” 

In her heart of hearts Linda was conscious of a de- 
sire to teach Jinnie a lesson. She had suffered a good 
deal at her hands to-day, and she would like to see the 
tormenter tormented a little. But how could she ask 
her Heavenly Father to forgive her as she forgave 
others, if she yielded to her revengeful inclinations ? 

“ It is not revenge, you know, Linda,” said Fanny, 
as if in answer to her thoughts ; “it is justice.” 

“ I will repay, saith the Lord,” were words which 
Linda also heard as Fanny spoke; and she knew that 
if she gave her consent to punishing Jinnie she would 
do it in a spirit of revenge, whatever might be the mo- 
tives in the other girls’ hearts. How dreadful it would 
be to lose the privilege of saying the prayer which her 
dear Lord had given to his children ! Was the pleas- 
ure of punishing a guilty friend greater than the pleas- 
ure of being able to speak to her Heavenly Father in 
his own divine words ? Oh, no, indeed. 

When Linda had reached that conclusion there was 
no longer any revenge in her heart. The desire to 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


209 


take the girls’ side had suddenly left her, and she said 
quite honestly, 

“ I do n’t mind Jinnie’s teasing now, and I think the 
best way to cure her will be not to notice it. She will 
be ashamed if we are all kind to her, and perhaps it 
will teach her the very best kind of a lesson. I know 
it will surprise her more than anything else we can do 
if we just treat her as well as ever.” 

“ O Linda, you are too soft,” said Ada. 

“ Linda, you are only one against the whole school,” 
said Fanny Fothergill. “ Consider yourself put out. 
We’ll hear nothing more from that quarter. Jinnie 
Mansfield is to be sent to Coventry. From this day 
forth no one is to speak a word to her until such time as 
we all agree in an assembled meeting like the present. 
Those in favor of this motion signify it by saying Ay.” 

“ Ay !” rose in one loud cry. 

“ Contrary, Nay.” 

“ Nay !” said Linda’s fine voice all alone, calling 
forth a shriek of laughter from the others. 

“ We do n’t count you, Linda,” said Fanny. ‘‘ You 
know I told you you were to be considered an out- 
sider.” 

“ Do n’t bother her ; let her go her own way,” said 
Fanny, taking Linda’s hand under her arm and smi- 
ling down upon her as she saw moisture gathering 
under her eyelids. “ Linda ’s brave, at any rate.” 

Fanny had a strong suspicion that it was right for 
27 


210 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


Linda to be also forgiving ; but she was not quite pre- 
pared to forgive herself and to lead the others in the 
best way. 

“ The Umbrella Brigade will now advance,” said 
she; and the girls moved on, each toward her own 
home. 

When Linda reached hers, she no sooner put her 
umbrella away, took off her hat and rubbers and kissed 
auntie, than she prepared for a little season of reflec- 
tion. She felt that she had great need of wise and ear- 
nest thought, that she bore a heavy responsibility, and 
that the happiness or unhappiness of many people de- 
pended on her actions. 

She could not bear to think of Jinnie in Coventry. 
She shrank from all the unpleasant words and deeds 
of the next few days. One of her friends scorned and 
unnoticed by all the rest of her friends — it was dread- 
ful. It must be prevented in some way. Who would 
do it ? She had so little influence that she did not see 
how she could do it. If only there were some one 
powerful and skilful, some one who could sway the 
whole school in the right direction ! How she wished 
that she were a leader ! 

“ O dear,” thought Linda, “ it is a great deal easier 
to do what other people want me to than to make 
other people do what I want them to. I wish some 
different kind of a girl would make a reconciliation 
between Jinnie and the school ; but I ’m the only one 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


211 


on Jinnie’s side. I wish I could do it ; I only wish I 
could.” 

“ I can do all things through Christ which strength- 
eneth me,” said a voice in Linda’s heart. 

“ ‘ All things,’ ” she repeated. “ That means very 
hard things, of course ; it must mean even such a hard 
thing as this.” 

What difference would her weakness make if God 
should give her his strength ? Indeed, Linda remem- 
bered that God likes to use small and weak things to 
work his ends. “ My strength is made perfect in weak- 
ness,” said the voice in her heart. 

Linda knew that this good deed she wished to do 
was not beneath her Heavenly Father’s notice; that 
he would gladly stoop to help her, and perhaps ena- 
ble her to work a reconciliation between Jinnie and 
the girls if she gave herself up to his guidance. 

So, having the lowly and obedient heart which 
God requires in his service, Linda begged her Heav- 
enly Father to make his strength perfect in her weak- 
ness, and to lead her as he pleased. Then she put on 
her hat to go over and see Jinnie, having no plan, but 
waiting for God to develop his. 

As she walked along under her little umbrella she 
encountered difficulties, however. There always are 
difficulties at the outset of every right path. 

She suddenly remembered that while she was going 
to make a reconciliation between Jinnie and the school, 


212 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


she was unreconciled to her herself. She laughed for 
a moment, and then grew very serious, for what could 
she do? How should she dare attempt to become 
peacemaker when her own quarrel was unsettled? 
That, of course, must be settled first. 

Linda grew very thoughtful as she approached Jin- 
nie’s house. She believed that she had quite forgiven 
her early in the day, and that she had put all pride out 
of her heart ; but she found that there were some grains 
left when she saw the necessity of suing for Jinnie’s 
friendship. 

“ I have tried to make up with her twice,” thought 
Linda. “When it first began, I did my best, and she 
would n’t be friends ; and I Ve tried ever so many times 
since. I was pleasant to her this morning after she 
had been tormenting me ; and though she treated me 
better I could see she did n’t want to be friends again. 
I can’t make her like me the way she used to. I don't 
see what more there is to do, now that I ’ve tried over 
and over.” 

“ Till seventy times seven,” said the voice in her 
heart. “I say not unto thee, until seven times; but 
until seventy times seven.” 

Linda conquered herself before she reached Jinnie’s 
gate, and went in so full of a determination to settle 
her own affairs that she forgot for the time her first 
undertaking in behalf of Jinnie and the school. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


213 


CHAPTER XXII. 

She was in such a hurry to get in and have it all 
over that she did not stop at the gate to think what she 
should say ; but when the heart is right the right words 
are very apt to say themselves, and Linda’s determina- 
tion to follow the guidance of the Holy Spirit in her 
heart was as good a preparation as any little speech 
she could have composed. 

She hurried up the walk, and the door flew open, 
while Jinnie laughing and defiant stood before her, 
ready for battle. 

“ Say it and get done with it,” said she. “ You and 
the girls are all down on me. I know it. Scold away 
and have it over.” 

She looked intently at Linda for a moment, then 
ran and threw her arms around her neck. 

“But there, you darling, you haven’t come to 
scold!” she said. “You look as sweet as a peach. 
What have you come for ? I know from your face 
you ’re not angry. Did your auntie send you with a 
message ? Or are you going to stay and play ? Or 
what?” : 

Linda looked and looked at her, her eyes telling 
the whole story, but no words coming to her lips. 


214 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“What did you come for, chickadee?” said Jinnie, 
giving her an affectionate shake. 

“ Reconciliation,” said Linda. 

“Well, you are the best little girl I know,” said 
Jinnie, drawing her into the house. “ Now, Linda, I ’ll 
tell you something: I felt real badly after I came home 
from school. I knew all the girls were angry at me, 
and I ’ve been thinking I had n’t any friends left. But I 
would n’t have let anybody know it. I ’d have kept it 
to myself and laughed away all the time, no matter 
how much my heart ached. I thought Daisy even 
wouldn’t forgive me, and I thought you were the 
angriest of them all ; and now you ’re the first one to 
come and see me, after all I ’ve done to you too. I ’ve 
been horrid not to forgive you sooner ; and I ’ve teased 
you and teased you and teased you ; and you ’ve never 
said any hateful things to me. But then you have had 
a stiff, proud way ever since that quarrel, have n’t you, 
dear? And it has made me angrier than if you said 
cross things to me. You’ve held your head so high, 
you know, and acted like a queen ; then that made me 
want to show you that I was n’t your slave, for all your 
airs.” 

“Yes, Jinnie, I know it,” said Linda. “But I’m 
not going to have those proud feelings in my heart 
any more. I think I ’ve got over them now, and 
I ’m sorry I was so disagreeable ; so please forgive 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


215 


“ Of course I will, you darling ; and you forgive me 
too.!'’ 

After almost squeezing the breath out of Linda 
she drew back with a deep sigh of satisfaction and 
said, 

“ Oh what a sweet reconciliation I I do love a recon- 
ciliation. It is even nicer than the one I had with 
Daisy. I ’ll tell Daisy it ’s the best one I ever had, 
because she was talking about it this morning on the 
way to school. She was wishing she could bring it 
about, but you ’ve done it all yourself, Linda.” 

That made Linda think of the other object of her 
visit, and she fell to wondering by what means she 
should accomplish a reconciliation between Jinnie and 
the school. 

“ Honey Bee,” said Jinnie, “ come over in the corner 
and I ’ll tell you the rest of that story, for I know 
you ’re aching to hear it. I ’m never going to tease 
you again.” 

“I wish you’d never tease anybody again,” said 
Linda. 

“ Well we ’ll think about it,” said Jinnie, drawing 
Linda into the window seat. “We’ll think about it, 
little preacher. Where did I leave off in that story ? 
Let me see. The miser said, ‘ Open, little door.’ The 
door obeyed, he entered the cave, and — ” 

Before Jinnie could go any farther Linda had laid 
her hand over her mouth. 


2i6 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


“ Don’t tell me any more of it just yet,” she said. 
“ I want to say something first.” 

“ Are n’t you anxious to hear the end ? I thought 
you were wild to know how it turned out,” said Jinnie. 

“I am,” said Linda. “But, Jinnie, are you sure 
we are just as good friends as ever ?” 

“Oh, better!” said Jinnie. “People always are 
after a reconciliation.” 

“Do you like me as well as you did before our 
quarrel ?” 

“ Why better, of course. Honey Bee. I never liked 
you so much as I do now that you ’ve been so sweet 
about making up.” 

“ Then you must prove it,” said Linda. 

“ Must I ? Shall I get down on my knees ? Or 
shall I give you my dear little turquoise ring that my 
darling grandmother gave me, and that I love more 
than all my treasures ? Here, take it.” 

“ No,” said Linda, “ that is n’t what I want.” 

“ I thought I was proving that I loved you, when I 
offered to tell you the rest of that story.” 

“ But, Jinnie,” said Linda, “ I am not the only one 
that’s anxious to hear how the story ends. All the 
girls were dreadfully disappointed. What I want is 
for them to hear the rest of it.” 

Jinnie shrugged her shoulders. “ Well, as you ’re 
a pretty good little girl,” she said, “ I ’ll give my per- 
mission. I ’ll let you tell them just what I tell you.” 






OUT OF THE FOLD. 


217 


“ Why I could never tell it the way you do. There 
is more in your way than in the story itself; so to-mor- 
row I want you to finish it at recess.” 

“For the whole school? Not I! How the girls 
would laugh at me ! They ’d have the joke on me 
then.” 

“I should think you would rather let them have 
the joke on you than to have them angry.” 

Jinnie shook her head. 

“I believe you would,” said Linda. “I’m afraid 
they wont forgive you right away unless you do some- 
thing first, and I know you feel badly to have them all 
against you. Does n’t it make your heart ache a little 
bit, Jinnie ?” 

“ I ’ve got you. What do I care for the rest of 
them ?” said Jinnie, throwing her arm around her. 

“But you do care, and I care; and I’m going to 
have you reconciled, and you ’ve got to promise me. 
If you like me just as well as ever, you ’ll prove it.” 

Jinnie tossed up her head, hummed a reckless tune, 
and looked rebellious for a moment ; then she grasped 
Linda’s arm, and said, 

“ I promise, little peacemaker. It will mortify me. 

I shall be so ashamed I wont know what to do ; but I 
suppose you think that will be good for me. Oh, I 
deserve it all. Make me as unhappy as you please. 
Punish me and make me better.” 

“ Yes, you naughty child, that is what I ’m going 
28 


2i8 


OUT OF THE, FOLD. 


to do,” said Linda. “ And I shall say what the moth- 
ers say, ‘ It’s all for your good. It’s to make you hap- 
pier in the end.’ Think how happy you will be to- 
morrow after you are friends with the girls and every- 
body’s reconciled, you and I, and you and the school. 
Now I must go, Jinnie. I only came for a few minutes. 
I have ever so much to do this afternoon.” 

Linda’s first business was to call on Fanny Fother- 
gill, for her work of reconciliation was only half done. 
She had had such success so far that she felt em- 
boldened to lay her case before her schoolmate; and 
pleaded so well that at last Fanny promised to come 
over on her side, and see what she could do toward 
persuading the other girls to receive Jinnie’s advances 
kindly. 

Fanny agreed to go to school early the next morn- 
ing ; and as the girls came she talked to them one by 
one, and said Linda had had a talk with Jinnie and 
found her penitent ; that she thought they had better 
not send her to Coventry, after all, but be forgiving and 
let her tell them the rest of her story at recess. 

So when Jinnie appeared she was received with 
politeness, if not with cordiality. The girls said Good 
morning to her; and at recess they lingered about 
their desks when the bell rang, instead of hurrying out 
to the garden. 

“Here’s a good seat, Jinnie,” said Linda, offering 
the use of her desk. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


219 


“You left off where the miser said, 'Open, little 
door !’ ” said Fanny. 

“ Go on ; we ’re crazy to hear the rest,” said Ada. 

“There isn’t much more of it, you know,” said 
Jinnie. “The door obeyed him as it hadobeyed the 
woodman. The miser went in. ‘ Shut, little door,’ he 
said. It shut, and he rushed forward to fill his bags 
with the treasures which he saw. But he was a very 
different person from the woodman: he had never 
given to the poor nor done a kind deed with his wealth 
to any human being. Instead of hearing the invitation 
to come again, he heard soft steps approaching him, 
and looking up saw a great hound, with fiery eyes, 
coming toward him ; then the voice which had spoken 
kindly to the woodman called, ‘ Away, rapacious man !’ 
to him, and he rushed toward the door; but in his 
terror, instead of telling it to open, he kept calling, 
‘ Shut the door ! Shut the door !’ 

“ The woodman waited a long time outside ; at last 
he drew near the door and could hear low groans with- 
in. He tapped, and said, ‘ Open, little door.’ 

“ There lay his wicked neighbor dead on the sacks 
he had brought to fill ; and as he looked beyond him at 
the gold and jewels, all began slowly, slowly to disap- 
pear. Down, down they sank, down and down, till the 
whole treasure was lost in the depths of the earth. 

“ So, though he escaped with his life, the woodman 
missed great blessings for lack of a little courage. But 


220 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


he had already enough at home to buy many comforts 
for his wife and children and to help the poor ; and I 
hope he learned a lesson from the miser’s dreadful 
death, and that you all, my dear little children, will 
neither be greedy nor cowardly, if you wish to be hap- 
py and prosperous.” Jinnie rose and made a sweeping 
courtesy to her audience as she finished. 

“ It’s a splendid story,” said Fanny Fothergill. 

“ And you ’re a dear, good girl,” said Daisy, throw- 
ing her arms around her. 

“ There ’s the dear, good girl,” said Jinnie, pointing 
at Linda. “ There ’s the little peacemaker.” 

But Linda’s blushes prevented the other girls from 
complimenting her on the result of her good efforts. 
They only smiled their thanks to Linda for making 
peace among them all, and some one changed the 
subject. 

Linda and Jinnie walked home from school togeth- 
er, and there was no longer any constraint between 
them. Everything was as pleasant and natural and as 
thoroughly friendly as it had been in the beginning. 

“ It seems exactly like old times,” said Jinnie. 

“ Yes,” said Linda. “ I ’m so glad.” 

What she was feeling particularly glad about was 
the victory she had won the morning before. How 
differently the two days might have ended if she had 
not determined to forgive instead of avenging her 
wrongs. If she had not resolved that she would say 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


221 


the Lord’s Prayer from a sincere heart, she and Jinnie 
might have had no reconciliation yesterday, and Jinnie 
and the school no reconciliation to-day. She thanked 
her Heavenly Father that he had inclined her heart 
toward forgiveness, and that he had helped her in her 
difficult undertakings. 

She did not hear all Jinnie’s chatter as these 
thoughts filled her mind and these thanksgivings rose 
silently from her lips. But then Jinnie required so few 
answers that she hardly knew whether Linda was lis- 
tening or not. She was quite willing to do all the talk- 
ing, and was sorry that she must come to an end at 
Linda’s gate. 

“ Are n’t you coming in ?” asked Linda. 

Can’t now ; must go home to dinner.” 

“ Are you coming over this afternoon ?” 

“ I do n’t know. I have n’t thought anything about 
it.” 

Linda had hoped that she had been invited to tea, 
if not to dinner, and she rather dreaded going in to 
dine by herself. Auntie had gone out to spend the 
day, and she had promised to provide some pleasant 
company for Linda in her absence. 

“ But I suppose she forgot it,” thought Linda, as 
she went into the house. 


222 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The very fact of her knowing that auntie was not 
at home made the house seem lonely as she opened the 
door. Her old dread of the still, orderly little parlor 
where she had spent so many homesick evenings came 
back to her, and she lingered a moment in the hall. 
But it would be as lonely up stairs, lonelier still in the 
dining-room, where she must eat her first solitary meal. 
“ I believe I wont eat any dinner,” she thought, and 
wished that auntie had not forgotten her promise to 
ask some pleasant guest. 

“ I wonder if I ’ll never, never get over this home- 
sickness,” she thought, as she bravely crossed the par- 
lor threshold. “ It seems to get worse all the time, and 
I do try to be contented. I ’m afraid I have a discon- 
tented disposition ; but oh, how I do long to see my 
own darling mamma ! I can’t help it ; but I ought to 
be very happy, everything has turned out so well, and 
the girls and Jinnie and I are all friends. I wish I 
could be happy, but it is so lonesome here ; if I could 
only go home I would n’t care for anything else in the 
world.” 

Such were Linda’s thoughts as she sank into a 
chair and folded her hands in a most miserable and 
hopeless manner. All her old heartache came back so 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


223 


suddenly and with such power, that she would have 
cried in a moment, if her attention had not been at- 
tracted to a package in brown paper on the centre - 
table. 

It w’as addressed very plainly to “ Miss Linda 
Barto,” and under her name was written, “ A friend to 
spend the afternoon with you, and keep you from be- 
ing lonely. It is another dream come true, and auntie 
hopes the fulfilment will give you as much pleasure as 
the dream has done.” 

Linda forgot her homesickness and loneliness, and 
could hardly wait to tear off the papers. She won- 
dered if it could be a microscope, but hardly dared 
believe it was, until she came first to the box, and then 
inside the box found just exactly what she had wanted 
so long. 

It was standing in a very large box, and was all 
ready for use ; so she had nothing to do but to slip in 
one slide after another until she had seen everything, 
from the fly’s tongue to the spider’s foot. 

She was not satisfied with looking at them once ; 
and after she had looked at them all over and over, 
closely and critically, she began to examine objects in 
the room. She examined her own finger, the leaves 
of auntie’s plants, a bit of cloth, a newspaper, a needle’s 
eye ; and at last left her fascinating companion to go 
to her solitary dinner, after hearing the bell ring twice 
and being summoned twice by the servant. 


224 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


She did not linger long at the table, and returned 
to her new friend with a bit of meat, a crumb of bread, 
and an orange-seed. But even a microscope may be- 
come monotonous after a while, and she was ready at 
last to put it away. 

“ I will rest a little while,” she thought, for her neck 
was beginning to ache from bending over so long. 
“ Thank you for keeping me from being lonely and 
homesick,” she said, putting the microscope into the 
box. 

But the very mention of that word brought back a 
lonely, homesick feeling, and made her think with long- 
ing of her own dear mother so far away. 

“ Nothing, nothing will ever cure me but seeing her 
again, I do believe,” she said. “ I would rather sit and 
think about her than go and look through my micro- 
scope now. If I only had all these things I have 
wanted so much in my own home, how happy they 
would make me. But I don’t believe anything can 
make me very happy away from home. Just as I think 
I ’ve got over it and am growing contented, some little 
thing — like auntie’s going away to-day — makes me as 
bad as ever. I believe I’ll go over and see Jinnie; 
but, O dear, there is that composition to write ! If I 
could only write poetry, I wouldn’t mind, but auntie 
thinks it would never do.” 

From what auntie had seen of Linda’s poetry she 
did not think it desirable to have it appear in public, 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


225 


and had insisted upon her not offering a poem for her 
first composition. As prose was an untried field to 
Linda, she dreaded the first composition; and after 
several unsuccessful attempts she had put off writing it 
till the last moment, and to-morrow it must be hand- 
ed in. 

“ I believe I ’ll write on homesickness,” she thought. 
” It ’s the only subject I know much about. But there, 
I mustn’t think of that word again. I mustn’t think 
of my troubles or my joys till I get my work done — or 
I ’ll never do it. I ’ll forget home and the microscope, 
and go and practise and then write my composition.” 

She took the book of exercises and opened it on 
the piano, then sat down with a yawn and began to 
count, “ One, two, three ; one, two, three.” 

The sing-song tones of her voice, and the pound- 
ing of a dozen notes over and over, were so unmusical 
that Linda dashed off presently into a wild medley of 
her own, which was very noisy and ran the whole 
length of the keyboard. But she remembered that she 
had been rebuked by both her teacher and her auntie 
for wandering from her lesson in that manner, and be- 
gan to drum those dreary, dozen notes over again and 
to count her “ One, two, three.” 

She had perhaps been more disappointed in her 
music than in anything else. The fulfilment of that 
dream had come to her accompanied by so much 
drudgery that she was willing to confess, in this case, 
29 


226 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


that the dream was better than the fulfilment. Al- 
though she loved music so dearly, she did not learn 
very quickly, and had not begun to make it come out 
of her fingers at all, while her head seemed full of 
the most beautiful melodies. It was such tedious, dis- 
couraging work, learning to finger and to keep time, 
that she would not have been sorry to give up the les- 
sons altogether. She used to think that time kept 
itself, and that fingers found the right way about the 
keyboard naturally. But, alas, that was a part of the 
dream which ended in much monotonous counting and 
tuneless pounding. 

She practised three-quarters of an hour faithfully, 
only pausing for occasional reflections on the disap- 
pointments she had experienced in the fulfilling of her 
dreams, and then she gladly ran away from her captiv- 
ity to take a look out of doors. 

It was a dreary day, very warm for fall, but the air 
was moist and heavy, and it made one feel lifeless, and 
was not the best kind of weather for a little girl inclined 
to homesickness. Linda felt ashamed of her home- 
sickness, with the microscope lying by her on the table. 
If she could only take it home and show it to the chil- 
dren, how thoroughly she would enjoy auntie’s beauti- 
ful gift! 

She ran away from the window to get her paper 
and lead-pencil, and when she came back opened the 
window wide, for she thought she would not mind the 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


227 


dampness and heat that came in if only a breeze would 
come with it. But no breeze came near Linda. 

How did people write prose ? she wondered. She 
tried and tried to begin ; then she took a book from 
the table to see if she could find any help there. Per- 
haps if she read a little prose she would discover how 
it was done. 

But the book proved to be poetry, and the first 
words her eyes fell upon were, “No Baby in the 
House.” In another moment she was reading the 
poem. 

“ No baby in the house, I know, 

’T is far too nice and clean ; 

No tops by careless fingers strewn 
Upon the floor are seen : ■ ' . 

No finger-marks are on the panes, 

No scratches on the chairs. 

No wooden men set up in rows 
Or marshalled off in pairs ; 

No little stocking to be darned, 

All ragged at the toes ; 

No pile of mending to be done. 

Made up of baby-clothes ; 

No little troubles to be soothed. 

No little hands to fold ; 

No grimy fingers to be washed, 

No stories to be told ; 

No tender kisses to be given. 

No nickname, ‘ Love,’ and ‘ Mouse 

No merry frolic after tea — 

No baby in the house.” 


228 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


The words had touched a heart which was already 
full, and Linda’s homesickness broke forth in sobs. 

Oh, how she would like to hear the sound of her 
baby brother’s little feet pattering about in that still 
room ! How glad she would be to have his voice dis- 
turb her, even with its Grossest cries. How she washed 
there were marks of his little, grimy fingers all over 
those clear, clean window-panes. How she w'ould like 
to wash windows and fingers once more. How she 
w^ould fly around the room to pick up his toys and put 
everything in order after the dear “ careless fingers” — 
if only the fingers and the disorder were there. How 
she wished she had a little, ragged stocking to darn. 
Oh, wouldn’t she like to get at that big basket of 
mending and help reduce the pile once more. If she 
only could soothe the little troubles, tell stories, give 
tender kisses, use the dear old nicknames, and have 
the merry frolics after tea again ! 

But she wdped away her tears, and felt as if she 
w’ere a great coward to yield to the emotions w'hich 
she had fought against so many times, and so often 
fancied she had conquered. That composition must 
be written. How easily the inspirations used to come 
at home ; and now that she had quiet and leisure to 
indulge them, they w^ould not come at all. “ But I 
must write something,” she said. 

Just then the breeze for w-hich she had been waiting 
came in at the open window, and was very welcome to 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


229 


her burning cheeks and eyes. She wiped the tears 
away and lifted her face to the breeze. 

“ I ’ll take it for my subject,” she said, and wrote 
on the paper, “ Little Zephyr’s Mission.” 

She felt the old tumult in her brain as one idea 
crowded quickly upon another. It w'as an inspiration; 
words flowed fast from the end of her pencil ; her cheeks 
glowed ; her eyes brightened ; once more she enjoyed 
the delights of a composer and the desire for fame. 

She was so well pleased with the result of her 
efforts that life looked brighter to her after the compo- 
sition was finished. By that time the zephyr had be- 
come a great wind, which blew noisily and dismally 
all around the lonely house. It lifted the rain, which 
was falling heavily now, and dashed it against the 
window where Linda sat. It shook the trees till the 
wet leaves fell in showers ; and altogether it was the 
last companion to be desired in auntie’s absence. 

Between the stillness and loneliness within and the 
storm without Linda would have felt very dreary ex- 
cept for her microscope and her successful composition. 
She looked at one and reread the other often before 
bedtime came. She did, it is true, occupy herself in a 
less pleasant and profitable manner now and then : 
once in a while she yielded to the influence of the 
storm and the lonesomeness, and shed a few homesick 
tears ; but the day passed much better than might have 
been expected. 


230 


OUT OF THE FOLD, 


At nine o’clock she was so sleepy that she thought 
she would not sit up any longer to thank auntie for the 
microscope, but would write a reply to her note. So 
when auntie came she found a small envelope ad- 
dressed to herself on the parlor-table. 

Linda’s note did not tell her that she had missed 
her, that she had found the storm a dreary companion, 
and that she had longed for her mother and her home 
more than ever before, in spite of all she had had to 
console her. It only said : 

“Dear auntie: Thank you very much for the 
beautiful microscope. It is lovely to have dreams 
come true ; and you are a dear, good auntie to leave 
such a nice friend to keep me company while you w’ere 
away. 

“ Your loving 

“ LINDA.” 

But auntie knew both sides of the story, though 
she had only heard one. She read part of the other 
side on the little girl’s cheeks when she went to see if 
she were well tucked in for the night. There were 
tears which she knew had been shed for the mother 
who was far away; and auntie smiled as she stooped 
down to kiss them softly. If Linda could have waked 
at that moment to see and understand auntie’s smile, 
how quickly one would have illumined her own face, 
and scattered every trace of sorrow away. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


231 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Friday had come, and the compositions were to 
be read that afternoon. School closed half an hour 
earlier on Friday, at one instead of half past, and it 
w'as always a welcome day on that account. But be- 
sides the half hour given them, the girls all enjoyed the 
little variety which Friday made in the dull routine of 
their regular studies. One week there were composi- 
tions to be read, and every other week readings or 
recitations. Recitation week was more popular; for 
unless Katie Crow or Minnie Barry happened to write 
a good composition there was nothing which the little 
girls considered worth hearing down stairs. 

After the reading of their own compositions they 
always went up stairs to hear those of the young ladies. 
These were rather beyond their comprehension, and 
had never given much pleasure to any of the children 
before Linda came. They were just far enough be- 
yond her comprehension to please her. She did not 
find as great a charm in what she perfectly understood 
as in what puzzled her a little ; and the young ladies 
were gratified by the rapt attention with which she lis- 
tened, as well as by a remark she had made to Daisy, 
and which Daisy had repeated to her big sister. “ I 


232 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


think the young ladies’ compositions are as lovely as 
poetry,” she had said. 

Her efiforts to imitate their style had prevented her 
succeeding with her own compositions. She could not 
write like them, and did not write like herself. She 
had been excused from a composition the first time, 
and after making a great failure the second time, aun- 
tie had begged another excuse for her ; so she was to 
make her first appearance in public to-day. 

Miss Davies read one composition after another 
until Linda thought hers would never come. She lis- 
tened anxiously to hear “ Little Zephyrs Mission ” 
announced, and at last there were only three papers 
left on Miss Davies’ table. Well, the next one must 
be hers. Her heart beat a little faster, for she could 
not help hoping that it would bring her some of the 
pleasures of fame. How glad she should be if all the 
girls who w'ere looking idly about the room while 
Ada’s was being read should listen attentively to “ Lit- 
tle Zephyr’s Mission.” 

But that was not the title of. the next one which 
Miss Davies took up, and the eyes of the whole school 
continued to wander everywhere but towards their 
teacher. They wandered through the reading of still 
another. “ I wonder why she leaves mine till the very 
last,” thought Linda. “ Can it be because it is the 
best? But the girls say she reads the best first. Oh, 
I hope she does n’t think mine is the very worst.” 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


233 


She felt discouraged by that fear, and almost hoped 
that if it was only worthy of the lowest place Miss Da- 
vies would riot read it at all. But her surprise was 
very great when the last composition proved not to be 
hers, and she discovered that Miss Davies was going 
to omit it altogether. 

She went up stairs to the young ladies’ room with 
a heavy heart. She felt so ashamed and disappointed 
that she did not want any one to look at her and dis- 
cover her confusion. It seemed as if she could not 
face that room -full of young ladies, as if everybody 
must know that she had written the very poorest com- 
position of them all — one which Miss Davies consid- 
ered too poor even to read. 

• She listened to Daisy’s sister’s composition as well 
as she could. It was all about bright flowers and blue 
skies and gentle breezes — just the style she liked best. 
What she heard of it she thought very poetical ; but 
she could not listen as attentively as usual ; it was hard 
to fix her thoughts upon anything but her own dis- 
grace. 

“ I wrote about breezes, too,” she thought. “ Per- 
haps, if I had put in the flowers and blue skies, mine 
would have been good enough to read first, instead of 
not at all. How pleased Miss Gracie Webster must 
feel to have hers read first.” 

Linda stole a glance at her, but she seemed to look 
just as usual. While she was wishing that she could 

30 


234 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


have written Miss Gracie’s beautiful composition, had 
it read first, and worn her honors with as calm and un- 
moved a countenance, her attention was suddenly with- 
drawn from Miss Gracie by the sound of very familiar 
words. 

“ ‘ Little Zephyr’s Mission,’ ” read Miss ' Mackin- 
tosh, the principal, from a paper she held in her hand. 
“ This composition was written by one of the little 
girls, but as Miss Davies tells me that she overlooked 
it down stairs, and we do not wish to leave it out alto- 
gether, I hope the young ladies will not mind listening 
to it.” 


“LITTLE ZEPHYR’S MISSION. 

“ Out in the wild wood, where the forest-trees are 
waving and the bright blue-bells ringing, a little 
Zephyr makes her home in the bosom of a wild lily ; 
now sporting with the sunbeams as they dart amid the 
flowers, and again dancing with the w'ater-bubbles 
above the silvery stream. 

“As she was lying one evening in her daisy-bed 
she seemed to hear a sweet, low angel-voice whisper in 
her ear, ‘Canst thou not do some good in this wide 
world, so full of grief and sorrow ?’ She pondered long 
upon these words, ‘ Do good ;’ she looked back upon 
her past life of pleasure, and could see no good that 
she had done. 

“ In a splendid mansion in the hot, dusty city, wri- 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


235 


thing in agony upon his little bed, is a beautiful boy. 
His curly hair is matted upon his fair brow, and he 
turns restlessly upon his little couch, breathing out his 
greatest desire, ‘ Oh for a spring breeze to come and 
cool my burning brow !’ 

“Zephyr heard the cry; she entered the chamber 
of sickness, and fanned him till he slept and dreamed 
of angels playing with him in the beautiful gardens of 
heaven. And then, as the twilight lingers and the 
shades of night draw nigh, she wafts him gently to 
heavenly shores, where myriads of waiting cherubs 
welcome him to the home of the blest. 

“ Off in a secluded corner of an old churchyard, 
under an aged yew-tree, stands a little gravestone, 
bearing the inscription, ‘ Our Willie and none save 
Zephyr ever visit that lonely spot; no arms are thrown 
around that grave with a longing to clasp Willie in 
their embrace ; no lips kiss that sod and breathe out a 
prayer that they may join Willie in the spirit-land ; no 
hands plant violets and daisies upon that little mound— 
no, none but Zephyr mourn now for Willie.” 

Linda was so pleased that her composition had 
been slighted down stairs only by accident, and that 
the young ladies listened to it attentively, that she no 
longer regarded it as a failure ; and when a sob was 
heard after its sad ending, then certainly she might 
consider it a success. To be sure, it was only tender- 
hearted little Amy Moore, who cried very easily, but 


236 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


Linda was gready pleased; and when, after school, 
several of the little girls told her that it was “ perfectly 
lovely,” so “ sad and sweet,” she felt that she had fame 
enough to satisfy her. But Jinnie’s praise was the 
sweetest she received. 

“ Oh, you dear darling, it was lovely,” she said. 
“ I could have cried when Miss Mackintosh read that 
part where Zephyr blew on his lonely little grave.” 

As Linda walked to her own gate, after Jinnie had 
left her, she had an opportunity to reflect on the pleas- 
ures of fame. She had been longing a great while for 
what she had received to-day. Her composition 'had 
proved successful, the girls had praised it — even Jin- 
nie, who was inclined to be critical about compositions. 
Schoolgirls’ praises were better than Polly’s tears. 
Certainly she had tasted of real fame to-day, and an- 
other of her dreams had come true. “ Why, all my 
dreams have come true now !” thought she. 

And was she perfectly happy at last — as happy as 
she used to think she would be ? Or was there one 
dream — a new dream, better than any of the rest — 
which was still unfulfilled, and which left her heart 
unsatisfied ? 

Instead of hurrying to tell auntie the good news 
about her composition, Linda fell to thinking, and 
walked slowly as she thought. Why was it that such 
a picture of home rose before her eyes ? that she re- 
membered so distinctly how she always used to run 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


237 


and tell mamma when any good thing happened to 
her ? how the best part of every good thing that did 
happen was the telling mamma ? 

After all the triumphs of the day her heart was 
sinking, sinking again. Would nothing lift it up — not 
even fame ? Was it a hopelessly discontented, heavy 
heart ? Could nothing make her quite happy ? Oh, 
Linda was sure that if that best dream, of putting her 
arms around her mother’s neck again could come true, 
she would enjoy the fulfilment of all the others. Ev- 
erything would seem complete then — nothing could 
satisfy her while that longing was in her heart. There 
was something lacking in the lessons that she used to 
find so fascinating at home; something disappointing 
in her music, in her microscope, and in her fame. But 
even the disappointments she could laugh at if she 
were at home. 

Did the Good Shepherd know, she wondered, how 
discontented she was still, how all her benefits , had 
failed to satisfy her, and how she found it more impos- 
sible every day to live apart from her mother’s love ? 
Why, of course he knew, and yet she would like to tell 
him the story. 

So as Linda walked along, lost in one of her deep 
reveries, she was going over the whole history of her 
life at auntie’s in a few rapid thoughts ; and what she 
said to her Good Shepherd was that she thanked him 
for every dream which had come true, but more than 


238 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


anything else for the green pastures and still waters by 
which he had led her when she was most sad and 
lonely. She thanked him for the nights when he had 
been the only Friend to stay with her, for the losses 
which had brought her such a gain as the near, real 
presence of the great King. 

But now that she had stayed out of the home-fold 
long enough to learn that she could find Him every- 
where ; now that through absence from her father and 
mother she had learned to know Him as both father 
and mother, Linda begged that the days of her pil- 
grimage might end, and that she might go back with 
all her lessons learned, all her experiments tried, and 
the value of her home proved greater than all wealth 
besides, to stay there for ever a happy, contented little 
girl. 

She felt so sure that God would understand the 
whole story, sympathize with her and answer her pray- 
er, that she ran home swiftly and told auntie of her 
fame with such a merry voice and glad face, that she 
wondered for a moment if the child was going to be 
contented with her, after all. 

But in the next breath Linda had begun to tell 
auntie the whole story -which she had just told her 
Heavenly Father. She never knew afterwards how it 
happened. She had not meant to do it. It was all 
out before even the thought of telling her could enter 
her mind. 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


239 


“ I knew it all, my darling,” said auntie ; “ and I 
should not have waited much longer for you to speak, 
for I could see that that little heart was getting fuller 
and fuller every day, and I did not mean to let it quite 
break. I don’t blame you in the least, dear. You 
need not fear that. I have had a darling mother of 
my own, and understand all about it. There have 
been various plans in my mind. Only this morning I 
began a letter to your mother telling her to come here 
for you, for her heart is getting ready to break, too, 
Linda. I have discovered from her letters that she 
cannot live without you much longer. I was going to 
surprise you with finding her here some day when you 
came in from school; then I thought perhaps you 
would rather go home and surprise all of them.” 

“ Oh, yes, I would,” said Linda. “ But, auntie, 
it seems so mean and ungrateful to want to hurry 
away.” 

“ Never mind that, dear. You will come back with 
Polly some time to make me a visit, wont you ?” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed !” said Linda. 

“ And I am going to make some arrangements 
about your school and your music at home, which I 
think will be pleasant for both you and your mamma. 
Now you shall go to-morrow if you like. You and 
the microscope shall start on the morning train, and 
auntie wishes you much joy together.” 

The next day, as a certain family we know were 


240 


OUT OF THE FOLD. 


sitting at dinner, who should appear at the door but 
their darling Linda ! They all said they should never 
forget how the front-door slammed, how those strange 
feet came racing along the hall-floor, how the dining- 
room door flew open, and how Linda looked as she 
rushed towards them. It was a day worth being long 
remembered in the Barto family when their little moth- 
er came back to stay. It was a great and happy day, 
and the first of a better order of things. 

For their little mother had made the valuable dis- 
covery that “ East or west, home is best she had 
learned to be satisfied with the life God had appointed 
her ; she had proved by her own experience that “ it 
is more blessed to give than to receive;” and if she 
dreams too much in these days, it is more of what she 
can do for others than of what she can gain for her- 
self; it is not of winning fame as a writer or musi- 
cian, but of winning the grateful love of those she loves 
best. 



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